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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

SAN  OJEGQ 


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ONDON  BOOK  CO. 
224  W.  Broadwa 
Herniate,  Calif. 


"_TA  ly  mm 

And  pport  to  gain. 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  HARTZ 


BY 

JULIUS  WOLEE 


TRANSLATED    FROM  THE  GERMAN 
BY 

RALPH  DAVIDSON 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  AFTER  DESIGNS  BV 

WOLDEMAR  ERIEDRICH 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

3be  Ikntcfcetbocfter  press 

1905 


Copyright,  1005 

BY 

RALPH  DAVIDSON 


TCbe  Htntcfterbocfcer  ptcee,  "Hew  Both 


THE  Hartz  Mountains  are  massed  in  wild 
and  rugged  beauty  on  the  wide  Prussian 
plain,  where  they  are  the  first  of  the  German 
highlands  to  meet  the  moist,  cold  winds  from 
the  North  Sea.  They  were  the  final  stronghold 
of  belief  in  Woden  and  his  sad  train  of  twilight 
gods,  and  to-day  for  the  whole  German  Father- 
land they  are  the  home  of  poetic  myth  and 
weird  folk-tale.  Julius  Wolff,  their  great  singer, 
and  the  youngest  and  last  of  the  school  of  Ger- 
man romantic  poets,  was  born  in  1834  at  Qued- 
linburg  on  the  borders  of  the  Hartz  land.  His 
novels,  dramas,  and  lyrics  have  brought  him 
fame,  but  he  became  the  most  popular  of  living 
German  poets  through  the  powerful  and  deli- 
cate epics  that  recount  in  a  new  form  of  rhymed 
narrative  the  shadowy  legends  of  old  Germany. 
In  an  ever-changing  variety  of  story  and  spirit, 
constant  only  in  a  fervent  and  lofty  patriotism, 
he  wrote  Tannhauser,  The  Ratcatcher  of  Hamc- 
lin,  The  Wild  Huntsman,  The  Lorelei,  The 
Flying  Dutchman,  Till  Eulenspiegel  Redivivus, 
and  The  Pappenheimer. 


in 


iv  The  Wild  Huntsman 

By  Wolff's  worship  of  beauty  and  his  delight 
in  love  and  the  returning  warmth  and  color  of 
spring  he  seems  one  of  the  minnesingers  re- 
born. He  has  never  attempted  the  grand 
style,  and  his  verse  is  pleasant  and  easy  flow- 
ing. His  tender  pathos  and  riotous  humor  are 
his  own ;  his  own,  too,  is  the  new  fashioning 
of  the  old  tales.  For  him  the  time-worn 
legends  are  still  the  drama  of  life,  and  reveal 
the  deeper  mysteries  of  the  human  heart ;  and 
as  the  background  for  the  comic  and  tragic 
play  of  forces,  he  shows  nature  in  harmony 
with  man  in  his  feverish  change  of  mood  and 
emotion. 

The  Wild  Huntsman,  the  work  of  thirty 
years  ago,  has  far  surpassed  all  Wolff's  other 
poems  in  popularity.  Its  intensely  dramatic 
story,  its  musical  beauty,  its  exquisite  appreci- 
ation of  nature  brought  instant  success.  The 
first  printing  was  exhausted  in  two  weeks. 
The  book  has  since  passed  through  twenty- 
seven  editions  in  Germany,  and  in  America  it 
has  thrice  been  reprinted  in  the  original  tongue. 

A  fitful  legend  of  the  Wild  Huntsman  is 
common  to  all  the  adventure-loving  peoples  of 
the  North.  In  France,  sometimes  as  the  holy 
St.  Hubert,  sometimes  as  the  chase-mad  Grand 
Veneur,  he  ranged  the  open  glades  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.     Wearing  a  crown  of  horns,  Heme  the 


The  Wild  Huntsman  v 

Hunter  was  long  a  blasting  tradition  to  the 
poor  who  lived  on  the  skirts  of  Windsor  Forest. 
In  the  Ross  of  outer  Scotland  and  the  Hebrides, 
the  simple  herdsmen  were  often  terrified  by  his 
hoarse-winded  horn,  the  din  of  the  wild  race 
of  deer  and  dogs,  and  the  ghostly  hoofs  quick- 
beating  over  the  hollow,  mist-wrapped  hills. 
Everywhere  in  Germany  the  tale  was  told  ;  from 
the  bleak  northern  lowlands  to  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  the  Black  Forest  in  the  South,  where 
he  was  a  wandering  and  undying  Jew,  who  de- 
nied Christ  a  drink  from  a  horse-trough,  and 
bade  him  lap  the  water  collected  in  a  hoof- 
print. 

Wolff  took  the  legend  much  as  he  found  it  in 
the  Hartz,  inscribing  the  poem  to  the  romantic 
home  of  his  boyhood  : 

Around  thy  mountains  blows  an  ancient  strain  ; 
High  onward  borne  upon  the  storm-wind 's  pinion 
It  sings  a  Huntsman  wild  and  his  dominion, 

A?id  thunderlike  is  pealed  its  dread  refrain. 

He  made  his  Wild  Huntsman  a  vivid  reality  in 
a  historical  setting  of  the  waning  Middle  Ages. 
The  ruthless  Wildgrave  of  the  legend  he  re- 
placed with  a  Baron  of  heroic  mould,  cursed 
through  headlong  passions,  but  softened  at 
times  by  human  love  and  pity,  and  gentle 
moods   of  regret.      His  weird   story  and   the 


vi  The  Wild  Huntsman 

mystery  and  horror  of  Woden's  spectral  host 
he  interwove  with  an  idyll  of  woodland  love, 
the  gossip  of  peasants,  dainty  tales  of  the  old 
mythology,  and  some  of  the  finest  nature 
passages  in  German  poetry. 

This  translation,  undertaken  with  the  poet's 
permission,  attempts  to  give  the  story  simply 
and  rapidly.  The  German  metre  has  been  care- 
fully preserved,  and  many  famous  pages,  where 
it  seemed  possible  to  reproduce  something  of 
the  vigor  and  beauty  of  the  original,  have  been 
translated  almost  literally.  A  number  of  songs 
have  been  omitted,  and  condensation  has  fre- 
quently been  necessary. 

Woldemar  Friedrich,  one  of  the  most  noted 
of  contemporary  German  historical  painters 
and  illustrators,  has  placed  his  designs  of  the 
German  Edition  de  luxe  at  the  disposal  of  his 
friend,  Mr.  F.  W.  Heine,  of  Milwaukee,  Wis- 
consin, who  has  redrawn  them  for  this  book. 

La  Porte,  Indiana, 
September  24,    1905. 


Contents 


Translator's  Note    . 

I. — At  Woden's  Mark  . 

II. — Spring 

III. — The  Mountain  Castle 

IV. — Forest  Rest    . 

V. — The  Stag  Hunt 

VI. — The  Next  Shot 

VII. — The  Abbot  of  Wai.kenrieden 

VIII. — Wulfhilde  and  Waldtraut  . 

IX. — The  Poacher  .... 

vii 


PAGB 

ni 

3 
M 

25 

50 
68 

95 

"5 

'35 
148 


VIM 


Contents 


X. — The  Boar  Hunt 
XI. — The  Death  of  Hackelberend 
XII. — To  the  Grave 
XIII. — The  Storming  of  the  Castle 
XIV. — The  Wild  Chase 


J59 
166 

183 
194 
212 


Illustrations 


"The  Woden  Host  !  "  he  faintly  mutters, 
And  leans  on  Wunsch  support  to  gain. 

Fro?itispiece 

"  But  read  on  !  I  '11  hear  the  finish 

Of  his  insolent  epistle  ! "  .         .         -39 

Then  to  the  cross  without  a  witness, 

With  head  uncovered,  staggers  he  .         .       91 

While  with  gentle  words  he  soothes  her, 

As  her  wondering  eyes  reopen       .         .         .      107 

"  Silence,  brother  ! 
For  the  story  is  not  ended  !  "         .         .         .      127 

But  firm  the  Count  strides  on  to  meet  him 

In  deadly  conflict,  life  for  life        .         .         .      153 

"Be  thou  damned,  then  !  Damned  forever  !  "     179 


At  last  beneath  the  sullen  rider 
The  rooty  soil  gives  hollow  sound 

ix 


191 


x  Illustrations 

Desperate  blows  in  deafening  clangor 
Rained  from  flashing  sword  and  halberd 


PAGE 


207 


Ho  !    Hunting    forever  !    He    stands  in  the 

stirrups  !......     221 


The  Wild  Huntsman 


At  Woden's  Mark 

HARK  to  the  sounding  story 
That  tells  of  a  deadly  fray — 
The  tourney  of  the  ages — 

The  combat  'twixt  Winter  and  May! 

There  's  constant  tilting  and  charging, 

The  weapons  cross  and  ring, 
There  's  endless  wavering  and  breaking 

In  the  surging  battle  of  Spring; 
Unending  turmoil  and  roaring 

Like  rush  of  tide  o'er  fields, 
Unending  cracking  and  clashing 

Like  swords  on  ringing  shields ; 
Now  clamoring  and  clanging 

As  if  from  brazen  bells; 
Now  rumbling  deep,  now  thundering, 

The  sound  to  fury  swells. 
The  wind  whirls  round  the  summits 

With  piteous  shrieks  and  moans, 

3 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

Through  creaking,  snapping  tree-tops 

Its  ghostly  chant  intones. 
But  all  the  blowing  and  ferment, 

The  misty  movement  and  strife, 
Is  only  the  flitting  and  hovering 

Before  the  breath  of  life. 
The  fluttering  and  bowing  in  branches, 

In  blade  and  shrub,  accord 
Due  reverence  and  greeting 

To  the  might  of  a  dreadful  Lord. 
He  comes  o'er  plain  and  mountain 

With  threats  upon  his  tongue; 
He  spreads  affright  and  terror, 

And  thus  resounds  his  song : 

On  high  I  ascend 

A  nd  course  through  the  air — 
My  wings  I  extend — 

Take  heed  and  beware  ! 
Be  it  night,  be  it  dawn, 

There  's  a  hush  as  of  death, 
A  nd  scarcely  is  drawn 

A  n  audible  breath  : 
I  'm  scented  afar 

In  awe  and  suspense, 
With  a  dread  as  of  war 

'  Midst  feeble  defense  ; 
And  when  I  at  length 
Have  marshalled  my  strength, 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  a  rush  and  a  shout 
I  burst  out. 


I  siveep  the  ocean, 

The  billows  I  roll ; 
Their  yeasty  commotion 

I  sway  and  control. 
From  my  cavernous  lip 

I  trumpet  a  blast 
That  tosses  the  ship 

And  shivers  her  mast. 
Though  upward  is  sent 

From  those  I  despoil 
A  zvail  and  lament, 

From  naught  I  recoil  : 
Nor  heed  I,  nor  care 
For  curse  or  for  prayer. 

Within  his  rock-built  tower 
The  Glacier  feels  my  power  ; 
I  urge  Jiim  on  and  make 
His  lofty  brozv  to  shake. 
Chaotic,  shattered  masses, 
That  stood  a  frigid  wall, 
With  turrets,  tozuer,  and  all, 
Now  cover  field  and  passes  : 
The  avalanche  stops  not 
For  cotter  or  his  cot  ; 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

All  ' ' neath  a  piling  mound 
Have  deep-sunk  burial  found,— 
Blotted  out  and  gone : 
Pity  have  I  none. 

Wish-wind  my  name  ; 
Will  is  my  essence  ; 
Might  tells  my  presence  : 
I  am  the  same 
And  mine  the  deed 
That  blesses  the  seed ; 
The  genital  force 
In  me  has  its  source  ; 
I  fructify  Earth, — 
Sustain  after  birth, — 
Pour  sap  into  mould, 
That  life  may  unfold. 
With  stirring  and  teeming 
Cones  hoping  and  dreaming, 
A  nd  rushing  about 

O'er  hill,  dale,  and  lake 
I  knock  and  I  shout  : 

Awake !  spring,  awake/ 

Thus  sings  the  storm.     Wide  Nature 
Seems  conjured  by  the  call, 

As  if  by  power  of  magic 
New  life  were  granted  all. 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  sap  awakens  from  torpor 

And  climbs  with  vigor  aglow ; 
Its  limbs  the  pine  tree  stretches 

Dislodging  their  burden  of  snow. 
The  juniper,  hemlock,  and  cedar, 

The  sombre  resinous  fir, 
And  all,  in  an  armor  of  needles, 

With  joy  at  the  call  are  astir. 
Out  of  furrowed  bark  and  fissure 

The  trickling  water  drips ; 
From  fretted  twigs  and  branches 

Hang  sparkling  liquid  tips. 
As  sinks  the  snowy  mantle 

Beneath  brown  carpeted  sands, 
On  many  a  leaf,  a  lakelet 

In  the  sunlight  twinkling  stands. 

Brief  days  and  hours  determine 

The  Winter's  deplorable  fate, — 
Dissolved  and  utterly  ruined 

His  splendor  of  princely  estate. 
His  crown  no  longer  glistens, 

Of  glittering  jewels  bereft ; 
His  icicle-sceptre  lies  shattered, 

And  his  armor  of  silver  is  cleft : 
The  sovereign  seal  is  broken 

That  held  all  life  in  bond,— 
His  brilliant  crystal  mirror 

Is  swept  from  brook  and  pond. 


8  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Where  diamonds,  jewels,  and  laces 
Once  met  the  dazzled  sight, 

Now  only  mere  tatters  of  ermine 
Still  cling  to  sunless  height. 

The  frozen  springs  burst  open ; 

The  brook  swells  with  the  gush, — 
Its  plunging,  foaming  waters 

From  hill  to  lowland  rush. 
Brimful,  the  swollen  river 

Rolls  through  the  anxious  land, 
And  drives  the  grinding  ice-floes 

To  distant  ocean  strand. 
The  wood  is  dank  and  darkling, 

Dense  mist  is  hanging  low ; 
Amidst  a  breathlike  whisper, 

The  buds  begin  to  grow, 
The  roots  feel  need  of  stretching, 

For  looser  soil  they  yearn ; 
There  comes  a  listing,  longing, 

As  when  the  birds  return. 

Beware !  ye  leaves  and  blossoms, 
Beware  of  storms  from  the  North! 

The  Winter  turns  in  fury, 
To  kill,  he  sallies  forth. 

To  you,  so  young  and  tender, 
He  deals  out  death  and  woe ; 

He  hurls  the  rattling  hail-storm, 


The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  whirls  the  blinding  snow. 
Again  the  streams  are  captive 

Beneath  an  icy  screen ; 
A  chilling  mantle  covers 

The  scarce-awakened  green. 
Anew  breaks  out  the  contest, 

And  man  to  man  engage; 
Once  more  the  clashing  weapons 

Incessant  roar  and  rage. 
By  day  the  Spring  is  victor, 

But  Winter,  through  the  night, 
From  his  defeat  recovers 

And  strives  with  all  his  might. 
By  stealth  he  onward  marches, 

Inflicting  many  a  blow, 
And  to  retreat  he  forces 

His  young  and  gallant  foe. 
But,  with  a  last  wild  effort, 

Spring  rallies  for  the  fight, — 
Retakes  his  lost  possessions, — 

Puts  Winter's  host  to  flight : 
Before  his  valiant  squadrons, 

With  pennons,  flashing  spears, 
With  clarion  notes  of  triumph 

And  loud  exulting  cheers, 
Fly  Winter  and  his  henchmen 

In  pitiable  plight, 
And  merry  Spring  sits  smiling, 

Enthroned  by  victor's  right. 


io  The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  Bode's  limpid  waters 

In  the  Brocken  have  their  source, 
And  through  the  Hartz'  green  mountains 

They  sing  along  their  course. 
But  ere  from  height  to  lowland 

The  gurgling  stream  has  sped, 
And  to  the  gnomes  and  nixies 

A  last  farewell  has  said, 
A  weird,  dread  vale  it  enters, 

Where  it  must  twist  and  bend 
To  seek  its  winding  channel 

Through  turns  without  an  end. 
Rocks,  bolder  and  more  lofty 

Than  here,  can  scarce  be  found, 
Nor  greener,  nor  more  tangled, 

A  wood  on  German  ground. 
Here  rise,  with  buttress  and  rampart, 

Vast  bulwarks  and  towers  high ; 
Huge  piers  and  pillars  colossal 

Time's  ravages  defy. 
Aslant,  and  leaning  over, 

Hang  threatening,  massive  blocks, 
As  if  they  had  but  halted 

To  span  the  gorge  with  rocks. 
Here  cleft  and  crevice  open ; 

On  cliffs,  aloft  in  air, 
Crouch  animals,  enchanted, 

And  stony  faces  stare. 
Here  clings  with  thirsty  fibre 


The  Wild  Huntsman  n 

The  shrub  to  rocky  wall, — 
Strikes  root  in  fissure  and  cranny 
And  cleaves  to  foothold  small. 

High  up  are  raging  and  splashing 

Fierce  blasts  and  sheets  of  rain ; 
Low  down  the  frothy  torrent 

Is  writhing  and  struggling  in  vain. 
The  waters  dart  into  eddies, 

And  frisk  and  fret  and  moan ; 
The  surging,  seething  billows 

Wash  and  hollow  the  stone. 
Where'er  you  pause  or  ramble, 

On  ridges  low  or  high, 
The  restless,  rushing  river 

Seems  murmuring  ever  nigh. 
Gaze  o'er  the  jagged  embankment, — 

Through  riven  rocks  behold 
The  bowels  of  Earth  laid  open 

To  secret  depths  untold. 

Above  all  others  rises    • 

One  peak  to  dizzy  height ; 
Nor  could  the  sharp-clawed  eagle 

On  its  steep  wall  alight. 
The  gray  and  hoary  mountain 

Bears  on  its  lordly  crest 
A  monstrous  horse's  hoof-mark — 

By  mighty  force  impressed ; 


12  The  Wild  Huntsman 

No  fiery  steed  e'er  bridled, 

By  mortal  man  bestrode, 
Has  stamped  the  print  in  granite 

Upon  this  sky-perched  road. 
To  Sleipnir's  foot  tradition 

Still  links  this  Runic  sign, 
And  victims  immolated 

On  Woden's  ancient  shrine. 

Its  song  the  storm  wind  hushes, 

As  darkness  all  enshrouds; 
Beyond  the  lofty  mountains 

Fast  muster  lowering  clouds: 
A  tall  majestic  figure 

Stands  near  the  ancient  mark; 
His  beard  is  long  and  flowing, 

His  mantle  wide  and  dark. 
A  broad-brimmed  hat  protects  him 

From  wind  and  threatful  sky ; 
Beneath  it  glows,  malignant, 

A  single  fiery  eye. 
Down  at  his  feet  crouch  fawning 

Two  wolves  of  aspect  grim ; 
Around  his  head  two  ravens, 

In  flight,  encircle  him. 
Now  slowly  upward  pointing, 

He  waves  his  slender  spear, 
And  with  it  draws  a  circle 

High  in  the  upper  sphere. 


The  Wild  Huntsman 


13 


Athwart  the  sable  cloud-realm 

Down  darts  a  gleaming  flash; 
Loud  rolling  peals  of  thunder 

Throughout  the  valley  crash. 
A  thousand  echoes  answer 

From  all  the  mountains  nigh, 
While  dazzling  bursts  of  lightning 

Oft  rend  the  lurid  sky. 
The  branches  stir  and  rustle 

As  speeds  the  passing  Form ; 
Then  yields  the  budding  forest 

To  the  early  thunderstorm. 


II 


Sprin 


S 


IT  blows  and  blusters  many  a  night 
With  rattling  hail  and  dripping  rain, 
And  each  day  tries,  though  oft  in  vain, 
To  turn  the  wind  or  stay  its  might, 
To  sweep  the  clouds  aside  once  more, 
And  to  the  sky  its  blue  restore. 
But  when  the  battling  storms  have  done, 
From  his  bright  portal  steps  the  Sun ; 
Among  Earth's  creatures  manifold 
He  scatters  lavishly  his  gold, 
As  if  in  prodigal  display 
He  'd  spend  it  in  a  single  day. 


The  wood,  where  mist  and  darkness  lurk, 
Awakens  from  its  sombre  dream ; 

A  thousand  fairies  seem  at  work 
To  carry  out  some  mystic  scheme. 

Fresh  vigor  fills  the  dormant  cells ; 

The  beech's  slender  bud  now  swells, 

14 


The  Wild  Huntsman  15 

And  patiently  it  strives  to  shed 

Its  shiny  scales  of  ruby  red ; 

'T  would  break  its  bonds,  and  free  and  brave 

Its  tiny,  tender  pennons  wave. 

The  elder  and  the  hazel  tree, 

Forgetting  first  their  winter's  woe, 
Once  more  from  icy  fetters  free 

Their  loosely  folded  spindles  show. 
And  here,  in  threes  and  fours,  hang  down 
The  little  catkins,  gold  and  brown; 
While  near,  within  a  shadowed  nook, 
Where  gently  flows  the  winding  brook, 
Demurely  through  her  peaceful  life 
Abides  the  hazel's  blossom-wife, 
And  over  her  she  bears  aloft 
A  stately,  plumed,  crimson  tuft. 
In  shining  linen,  white  as  snow, 
Is  wrapped  the  sable  thorn  of  sloe; 
The  elm  's  abloom,  the  asp  has  spun 

Soft  silk  to  form  long,  curly  locks, 
And  Mistress  Willow  has  begun 

To  herd  and  tend  her  lambkin  flocks. 
The  oak  alone  stands  gaunt  and  bare, 
Its  knotty  framework,  here  and  there, 
Aflutter  yet  in  April's  sun 
With  last  year's  leaves  of  faded  dun. 
But  when  the  bud  has  burst  its  bands 
And  each  notched,  glossy  leaf  expands, 
With  massing  foliage  overspread 


16  The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  swaying  boughs  again  display, 
In  hues  of  golden,  green  and  red, 
The  splendor  of  the  dawning  day. 

Then,  where  the  forest  floor  is  clear 
Of  fallen  cones  and  leafage  sere, 
Dame  Nature,  who  but  seldom  stints, 
A  carpet  weaves  of  rarest  tints, 
And  like  a  maid  on  festal  day 
She  decks  herself  in  spring  array. 
Look !  ere  one  knew  it  was  about, 

Amid  the  green,  half  hidden  yet, 
A  marvel,  sweet  and  blue,  peeps  out — 

It  is  the  first  dear  violet. 
Oh,  welcome!  joy  and  cheer  will  spread 
From  out  thy  downy,  leafy  bed ; 
Bloom  on,  thou  child  of  March,  nor  mind 
The  flatteries  of  the  playful  wind ; 
Do  not  his  roguish  theft  resent, 
E'en  though  he  steal  thy  fragrant  scent ; 
With  it  he  '11  wake  thy  sisters  fair, 
That  all  may  in  the  springtide  share. 
The  brave,  wee  chick-weed  leads  the  throng; 

Soon  snow-drop  hangs  her  pearly  bell, 
Gold  dandelion  and  adder's-tongue, 

Hepatica  and  pimpernel, 
Anemone  and  daisy  true, 

Sweet  cicely  and  columbine, 
With  buttercup  and  meadow  rue, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  17 

And  many  a  radiant  herb  and  vine, 
Entwining  in  a  garland  gay 

To  decorate  the  barren  wood, 
Ere  the  musicians  come  to  play 

And  wake  the  guests  to  festive  mood. 

They  soon  appear,  all  brisk  and  glad, 

The  little  folk,  a  motley  hive; 
Too  oft  their  days  are  brief  and  sad, 

And  constant  perils  scarce  survive. 
The  insect  broods  the  stir  have  heard, 

Attendant  on  the  vernal  tide, 
And  though  in  coffins  deep  interred. 

Revive  and  fling  their  shrouds  aside; 
From  folds  of  withered  leaves  they  crawl, 

And  struggle,  whirr,  and  wriggle  free; 
From  cracks  and  crevices  they  sprawl, 

Through  crust  of  earth  and  chink  in  tree. 


'£>* 


And  then  comes  flitting  through  the  air 

A  blithesome  and  familiar  throng 
Of  feathered  vagrants,  free  of  care. 

Who  hasten  back  with  glee  and  song. 
Their  warbling  through  the  wood  is  heard : 

"  'T  is  spring !  "  is  piped  from  yonder  bough, 
And  merrily  the  air  is  stirred, — 

"  'T  is  spring !  'T  is  spring ! ' '  reechoes  now. 
One  found  a  way,  though  bread  was  scant, 

To  gain  an  honest  livelihood 


1 8  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Through  winter's  peril,  pain,  and  want, 

And  robbers'  bold  assault  withstood. 
A  roving  life  another  led, — 

Droned  like  a  gypsy  through  the  land, — 
To  find  some  table,  ready  spread 

Each  day,  by  God's  providing  hand. 
A  third  one  came  across  the  sea, 

And  weary  must  have  been  the  flight, 
But  since  the  brook  of  ice  is  free, 

The  hardships  borne  seem  brief  and  slight. 
They  meet  again  from  far  and  near, 

And  greetings  pass  from  spray  to  spray : 
"How  fares  it,  friend?   When  cam'st  thou  here? 

Did  aught  befall  thee  on  the  way? '' 
While  one  small  traveller  makes  reply, 

He  drolly  stretches  legs  and  wings, 
And  as  he  shakes  his  feathers  dry 

His  dress  in  quaint  confusion  brings; 
He  perks  and  preens  himself;  coquets 

Like  some  coy  singer  in  a  play, 
Then  jauntily  his  bill  he  whets 

And  bursts  into  a  merry  lay. 
The  cross-bill,  gay  in  crimson  paint, 

Hangs  head-down  from  a  hemlock  cone; 
He  is  the  nail-smith's  patron  saint, 

And  with  the  first  has  northward  flown. 
His  thoughts  run  to  an  early  brood, 

So  on  a  bough,  from  morn  till  late, 
He  phrases  in  a  loving  mood 


The  Wild  Huntsman  19 

The  notes  to  win  his  chosen  mate. 
The  titmouse  chirps  in  shady  glen, 

The  linnet  carols  soft  and  true, 
And  like  a  flash  the  restless  wren 

The  dense-grown,  thorny  hedge  flits  through. 
Chaffinch  attunes  his  double  trill, 

The  thrush  ne'er  fails  to  swell  the  chimes, 
Blithe  goldfinch  joins,  and  with  his  bill 

Woodpecker  hammers  as  he  climbs. 
Sharp  quiver  forth  the  little  throats 

From  bough  and  thicket  all  day  long; 
Deep  from  their  bird-souls  gush  sweet  notes, 

And  love  the  burden  of  their  song. 
Then,  as  the  spring  unites  their  lives 

And  wedlock  puts  their  love  to  test, 
Each  pair  in  noble  conflict  strives 

To  build  the  most  ingenious  nest. 
Nor  rouses  them,  nor  causes  fright, 

The  warning  of  the  hawk's  shrill  cry, 
Prey-seeking,  from  his  aerie's  height, 

In  spiral  windings  drawing  nigh. 
He  peers  within  a  shadowy  glen 

To  seize  the  bird  that  lures  him  on, 
Where  rocky  cleft  and  pathless  fen 

In  darkened  mazes  bar  the  sun ; 
Here  lie  the  victims  of  the  wind, — 

Uprooted,  mouldering,  ancient  pines; — 
Here  lichens  thrive,  and  fungus  kind; 

Soft  mosses  creep  'neath  sprawling  vines, 


20  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  tangled  briars  and  spiny  thorn 
Along  the  pathway  form  a  hedge ; 

While  ferns,  still  plumeless  and  forlorn, 
Like  hairy  snails  hide  midst  the  sedge. 

And  here  awakes  the  drowsy  bear, 

Who  long  in  winter's  sleep  has  lain; 
Half-starved  he  leaves  his  hidden  lair 

To  sniff  the  balmy  air  again. 
The  badger  opes  his  bolted  door, 

And  rooting  leaves  his  kennel  home; 
The  hedgehog  ventures  out  once  more, 

Though  too  distrustful  far  to  roam ; 
The  deer  is  nibbling  in  the  glade, 

The  hart  now  bears  a  crownless  head, 
The  boar  seeks  pool  or  tarn  to  wade 

And  wallow  in  a  slimy  bed. 
Where'er  the  eye  may  chance  to  fall 

It  meets  green  nature's  wide  expanse- 
Flags  fluttering  in  bright  festival 

To  hail  the  welcome  spring's  advance. 
The  forest  vaults  its  leafy  dome 

'Neath  sunlit  sky,  in  starry  night; 
To  myriad  lives  it  grants  a  home 

And  stretches  far  till  lost  to  sight. 


Who  sees  the  weeks  of  springtime  flying? 
Who  marks  the  change  from  day  to  day, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  21 

Or  counts  the  clustering  buds  that  open 

As  June  succeeds  to  jocund  May? 
There  roves  within  the  shade-cool  forest 

A  hunter  in  the  Count's  employ, — 
A  youth  in  whose  firm  traits  of  manhood 

Still  linger  traces  of  the  boy. 
His  bright  and  open  face  emerges 

From  out  a  hooded  cloak  of  brown, 
That  falls  about  his  sturdy  shoulders 

And  o'er  his  head  is  lightly  thrown. 
In  doublet  clad  of  homely  leather, 

With  bugle  hanging  from  his  belt, 
He  bears  for  weapons  spear  and  cross-bow, — 

A  feather  's  in  his  cap  of  pelt. 
Though  huntsmanlike  is  his  equipment, 

He  seeks  not  sport  upon  his  way; 
To  hunt  or  trap  is  not  his  purpose, 

Yet  watchfulness  his  eyes  betray; 
As  warder,  he  must  find  a  poacher, 

Who  stealthily  has  slain  a  doe, 
And  though  incurring  unknown  peril, 

Meet  punishment  he  would  bestow. 

As  on  he  goes  he  hears  a  rustling, — 

Attent  he  listens ;  then  he  sees 
A  fox's  brood  from  out  the  covert 

Frisk  playfully  among  the  trees. 
In  hiding,  he  observes  their  frolic 

With  naught  in  sight  to  augur  harm, 


22  The  Wild  Huntsman 

When  suddenly  they  seek  their  burrow 

And  tumble  in  with  wild  alarm. 
On  instant  guard,  he  waits  in  silence, — 

His  arrow  on  the  straining  thong, — 
But  speedily  he  drops  the  cross-bow, 

For  sweet  there  rings  a  maiden's  song: 

A  fairy  flower  blooms  in  the  wood 

Where  silver  moonbeams  lie, 
And  he  who  wears  it  der  his  heart 

Will  feel  love's  zvitchery. 

Ah  !  could  I  find  the  secret  glade 
And  pluck  this  fateful  flower, 

I  'd  give  it  to  a  comely  lad 
And  watch  its  mystic  power. 

Oh,  blackbird !  thou  art  wondrous  wise  I 

Bring  me  this  blossom  fair  ! 
A  nd  do  thou  then  disclose  to  me 

Which  youth  it  shall  ensnare. 

The  singing  ends;  the  singer  falters; 

She  shrinks  in  fear,  yet  soon  reflects : 
'The  handsome  hunter  will  not  harm  thee," 

And  onward  then  her  steps  directs ; 
But  rudely  he  obstructs  the  pathway : 

"Whence  art  thou?     Whither  wilt  thou  go? 
I  '11  know  thine  errand  in  our  woodland " 


The  Wild  Huntsman  2 

And  here  his  questions  cease  to  flow, 
For  from  the  blue  eyes  of  the  maiden 

Laughs  spring,  as  buds  peep  from  a  spray ; 
Since  wrath  and  smiles  are  poorly  mated 

His  frowning  sternness  soon  gives  way; 
The  blushing  maiden  breaks  the  silence, 

Less  timid  now,  she  archly  pleads 
While  showing  him  her  half-filled   basket : 

"I  am  but  gathering  shepherd's  weeds; 
My  grandam  needs  them  for  a  potion, 

They  have  a  wondrous  healing  power 
To  still  the  blood  and  lessen  fever, 

If  boiled  at  full  moon  half  an  hour." 
The  youth  scarce  listens  to  her  prattle, 

Nor  on  the  basket  rests  his  gaze, 
But,  as  he  stands,  his  eyes  still  linger 

Upon  her  winsome  sunlit  face. 
"What  is  thy  name?"  at  length  he  asks  her. 

"I  'm  Waldtraut,  and  my  father's  cot 
Stands  plain  in  sight  on  yonder  hillside; 

This  narrow  road  leads  to  the  spot. 
He  earns  his  bread  by  charcoal  burning, 

And  here  he  toils  the  livelong   day; 
Dost  thou  not  know  the  collier  Volrat? 

He  often  takes  this  forest  way." 

Then  on  and  on  they  stroll  together 

Where'er  the  sylvan  pathways  wind, 
For  each  of  them  all  self-forgetting 


24  The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  other's  presence  has  in  mind. 
As  genial  sunshine  often  opens 

The  leaves  and  blossoms  in  a  day, 
So  two  fresh  guileless  hearts  awaken 

'Neath  glowing  Youth's  transforming  sway. 
Bright  Spring!  where  art  thou  now  incarnate? 

Art  thou  in  bloom  and  bird-song  blent? 
Or  in  the  joyance  of  these  mortals 

Hast  thou  thy  pure  embodiment? 
For  lo !  where  droop  the  verdant  branches, 

And  Eden-like  the  wood  doth  seem, 
There  steals  along  in  blissful  silence 

Love's  tender,  blessed,  springtide  dream  ! 

Now  must  they  part,  nor  longer  tarry, 

And  Ludolf's  words  his  hopes  confess: 
"  Wilt  thou  return  then  for  a  trysting?" 

She  smiles  and  shyly  answers:  "Yes." 
They  look  around  at  one  another 

And  nod  and  wave  from  time  to  time; 
Her  homeward  path  leads  through  the  valley, 

Across  the  mountain  he  must  climb. 
Well  on  his  way,  a  cliff  he  reaches, 

With  nimble  foot  ascends  it  fast, 
And  raising  to  his  lips  the  bugle, 

Salutes  her  with  a  hunter's  blast. 


Ill 


The  Mountain  Castle 


WHERE  the  gorgelike  valley  widens 
And  Luppbode's  waters  mingle 
With  the  Bode's  raging  current, 
Treseburg,  a  stately  castle, 
Crowned  the  summit  of  a  mountain. 
Here  as  feudal  liege  and  master 
Dwelt  the  Count  Hans  Hackelberend 
With  his  fair  and  noble  daughter, 
With  his  horses,  hounds  and  falcons, 
And  his  wardens,  skilled  in  hunting. 
'T  was  a  sky-perched,  aerie  fastness, 
Fitly  destined  for  the  housing 
Of  a  knight  and  ardent  huntsman. 
Lone  the  hill  and  ancient  castle 
Proudly  towered  o'er  the  valley, 
That  with  woodland,  mead  and  water 
Peacefully  extended  onward. 
At  each  turn,  the  rock-built  structure 
Rising  with  its  time-worn  granite, 

25 


26  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Midst  the  all-engirdling  forest, 
Challenged  the  approaching  traveller. 
Down  the  stream  the  vale  grew  narrow, 
Where  high  cliffs,  like  walls,  enclosed  it ; 
Round  the  castled  hill  the  Bode 
Ran  its  course  in  snakelike  windings, 
Till  it  all  but  formed  a  circle. 
Steeply  rose  the  bluffs  and  sternly 
That  upheld  the  frowning  stronghold. 
All  impregnable  its  bulwarks, 
From  one  side  alone  besiegers 
Could  attack  its  beetling  turrets. 
Here  a  heavy  draw-bridge  carried 
O'er  a  moat,  long  dry  and  empty, 
Whose  sheer  banks  in  safe  enclosure 
Held  a  powerful  stag  imprisoned. 
On  each  side  the  court  extended, 
By  thick,  solid  walls  protected, 
With  their  inner  wooden  ramparts, 
For  defense  against  assailants. 
At  the  entrance  stood  a  tower 
Reared  to  overarch  the  gateway. 
Stables,  armory  and  kennel 
Were  of  oaken  timbers  builded ; 
But  of  stone  the  castle  dwelling 
For  the  master  and  his  household, 
And  his  retinue  of  servants. 
From  its  granite  base,  the  Bergfried 
Raised  its  head  in  bold  defiance, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  27 

With  the  Count  its  only  tenant, 
Save  the  warder  at  his  outlook, 
High  within  the  tower's  turret. 
Antlers  huge  decked  halls  and  chambers ; 
Under  them  hung  diverse  weapons, 
Swords  and  lances,  helmets,  armor, 
Faded  belts  and  tattered  banners. 
Here  and  there  on  stone  engraven, 
Or  in  colored,  leaded  casements, 
Showed  the  family  escutcheon. 

On  an  afternoon  in  springtime, 
Gerhard  Korn,  the  falcon  trainer, 
In  the  gate-tower  hall  sat  working; 
Near  him  stood  the  archer  Bruno, 
Honored  both  for  years  of  service 
As  their  master's  chase  attendants. 
Gerhard,  gray  with  many  winters, 
Weather-hardened,  short  and  stocky, 
Had  in  charge  the  castle  stables, 
And  was  head  of  all  the  servants. 
He  was  famous  as  a  falconer, 
And  at  Falconworth  in  Flanders 
As  a  youth  had  been  apprenticed. 
Bruno  was  but  little  younger; 
Somewhat  taller  and  more  slender, 
Firm  of  hand  and  eagle-sighted, 
And  the  Count's  best  cross-bow  archer. 
He  was  bending  o'er  a  grindstone 


28  The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  a  growing  heap  of  arrows 

Lying  on  the  floor  beside  him. 

First,  the  pointed  tips  of  iron 

He  would  sharpen  ;    then,  selecting 

Those  that  seemed  to  him  most  perfect, 

Steeped  them  in  an  inky  mixture, 

Made  of  verdigris  and  gall  nuts, 

That  would  turn  them  black  as  raven. 

Ready  skinned,  upon  the  table, 

Stretched  a  full-grown  wild  swan,  captured 

By  an  eager  new  trained  falcon, 

At  a  recent  early  trial. 

Gerhard  worked  with  tow  and  needle 

Deftly  dressing  it  for  mounting; 

For  the  swan  in  all  its  beauty, 

With  majestic  snowy  plumage 

Was  to  hover  o'er  the  pillow 

Of  the  Count's  beloved  young  daughter. 

In  a  hoop,  not  far  from  Gerhard, 

Fastened  to  the  raftered  ceiling, 

Swung  a  closely  hooded  falcon, 

With  short  jesses  for  a  fetter; 

And  without  a  pause  the  falconer 

Ever  kept  the  hoop  in  motion, 

For  the  waking  and  the  hunger 

Made  it  ready  for  the  casting. 

Valentin,  the  busy  hostler, 

Young  in  years  and  goodly  featured, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  29 

Entered  now  and  joined  the  others, 
With  a  surly  look  exclaiming: 
'Wunsch  I  can  control  no  longer; 
In  his  stall  he  paws  and  worries, 
Till  I  dread  to  go  anear  him." 
"  Who  of  us  can  blame  the  stallion? 
Are  we  not  like  him  impatient 
For  the  open?  "  cried  the  falconer. 
"Let  the  man  who  would,  now  ride  him," 
Growled  the  groom,  "for  I  will  never 
Risk  my  bones  again  upon  him; 
I  am  still  all  aches  and  bruises 
From  the  time  when  last  he  threw  me." 
"None  except  the  Count  can  curb  him  "  ; 
Gerhard  said,  "but  in  the  Bergfried 
There  is  still  foul  weather  brewing, 
For  the  clouds  hang  low  and  threatening." 
Bruno  spoke:  "I  saw  a  raven 
On  the  ramparts  after  sunrise; 
Hoarsely  croaked  the  bird  ill-omened, 
Ever  on  its  left  leg  resting." 
"Thou  must  mean  the  black-robed  brother 
From  the  Walkenrieden  Convent : 
No  good  tidings  can  we  hope  for 
From  his  weighty  parchment  letter," 
Laughed  the  hostler.    "  Monks  and  goodness!  " 
Sneered  the  archer,  "priests  and  convents! 
Good  has  never  come  from  either ! ' 
"Hast  thou  heard  more  of  the  rising 


3o  The  Wild  Huntsman 

That  the  stubborn  peasants  started 
In  the  autumn  at  Muehlhausen? " 
Then  asked  Gerhard.     "Yes,  in  Kempten 
Bands  of  them  attacked  the  convent," 
Answered  Valentin,  "and  meekly 
Their  Prince  Abbot  sued  for  mercy. 
But  the  priests  deserve  no  better; 
Let  the  rebels  turn  against  them, 
So  our  castle  's  unmolested ! 
Hark!  whose  bugle  now  is  sounding?" 
"'T  is  but  Wenzel's  on  the  tower; 
Well  I  know  that  ancient  greeting 
To  the  earliest  stork's  returning, 
And  the  overflowing  tankard 
That  is  his  by  warder's  custom." 
"Humph,"  growled  Gerhard,  "there  he  hur- 
ries 
To  Agnete  for  his  guerdon ; 
He  is  all  too  prone  to  tipple — 
'T  is  unseemly  for  a  warder — 
Strange  it  is,  when  drink  is  mentioned, 
How  one's  thirst  at  once  needs  quenching! 
Velten,  go  to  my  good  woman ; 
Say  I  also  need  refreshing, 
And  forget  not  to  remind  her 
That  she  fill  the  largest  tankard, 
So  a  gnat  upon  its  margin 
Would  not  wet  its  feet  while  drinking; 
Then  we  all  the  stork  can  honor." 


The  Wild  Huntsman  31 

As  the  hostler  left  them,  Ludolf 
Through  the  open  doorway  entered. 
"Hast    thou    found    the    trace?"    asked    Ger- 
hard. 

'Yes,  they  still  are  in  their  kennel." 
"Who?"     "The  foxes."     "Well  I  know  it ; 
But  I  mean  far  other  quarry." 
Then  he  paused  awhile,  reflecting, — 
"I  could  name  the  reckless  poacher, 
And  the  Count  will  kill  the  culprit, 
If  at  stalking  deer  we  catch  him." 

'Whence  know'st  thou?"'  and  "Tell,  who  is 

it?" 
Anxiously  the  hunter  asked  him. 
"'T  is  the  collier  Bertram  Volrat!  " 
"If  't  is  he,"  replied  the  archer, 
"Hope  not  that  ye  '11  ever  take  him  ; 
For  he  has  the  magic  fern  seeds, 
And  unseen  through  air  can  vanish 
When  into  his  shoes  he  strews  them ; 
These  his  mother  Aulke  gives  him — 
Who  's  a  witch  ye  must  remember." 
"I  care  little,"  grumbled  Gerhard, 
"For  his  tricks  and  all  his  cunning; 
I  will  soon  o'ermatch  the  fellow!  " 
Bent  upon  their  work  and  chatting 
Neither  Gerhard  nor  the  archer 
Had  marked  Ludolf  standing  silent, 
With  his  staring  eyes  fixed  on  them; 


J 


2  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Wrapt  in  thought  and  ever  playing 
With  the  chain  that  held  his  bugle. 

"Do  ye  know?  "  asked  Bruno  sternly, 
"How  the  monks  of  WTalkenrieden 
Played  a  shameful  trick  upon  us? 
Though  their  convent  is  the  richest, 
With  its  chapels,  farms,  and  houses, 
Not  a  hamlet  is  exempt  from 
Paying  tithes  and  taxes  to  them. 
Mines  of  ore  and  endless  acres 
Yield  them  wealth  in  great  abundance, 
And  still  greater  is  their  profit 
From  the  wonder-working  image, 
And  the  thorns,  a  precious  relic, 
From  the  crown  of  our  Lord  Jesus. 
On  the  way  to  Rome,  their  pilgrims 
Never  want  for  pleasant  shelter 
Under  roofs  they  own  in  common. 
Where  good  wine  grows,  never  do  they 
Lack  for  vineyards  nor  for  cellars. 
Years  ago,  the  Emperor  granted 
Hunting  rights  in  wider  lordship 
To  the  friars  of  the  Convent. 
Far  as  pealed  the  bell's  slow  clanging 
From  the  walls  of  Walkenrieden, 
Feathered  game  might  still  be  taken. 
Then  the  tricksters  had  a  bell  cast — 
None  so  large  is  in  our  mountains  — 


The  Wild  Huntsman  33 

High  they  placed  it  in  the  belfry, 
Where  it  opens  toward  the  forest, 
That  the  sound  might  carry  farther, 
And  enlarge  their  hunting  precincts. 
Now  must  we  look  on  in  silence, 
Though  we  meet  them  at  our  noose-line, 
Or  the  fowling  floor,  or  nearer; 
And  the  cursed,  tonsured  rascals 
Fatten  on  our  snipes  and  wood-grouse." 

Valentin  now  brought  the  tankard, 
To  whose  foaming  beer  was  added 
Red  herb-ben  net  and  wild  sage  leaves, 
With  their  strong  and  bitter  flavor. 
Gerhard's  glance  showed  his  misgivings: 
"Bah!  the  gnat  would  be  a  marvel 
That  could  sip  from  this  cup's  margin. 
Velten,  clear  thee  of  suspicion! 
Canst  thou  show  a  beard  unwetted?" 
Now  the  kennel  boy,  named  Telie, 
Entered;  though  a  lad  no  longer, 
Yet  the  name  had  still  clung  to  him. 
"By  my  troth,"  said  Gerhard  laughing, 
"I  believe  the  boy  is  keener 
Than  a  hound ;  afar  he  scented 
Our  great  beer  mug  circling  freely. 
Come  and  drink,  thou  kennel  captain !  ' 
"Let  us  see  what  thou  has  huddled, 
Like  a  baby,  in  thy  bosom?  " 


34  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Asked  the  hostler,  as  his  fingers 
Prodded  Telie's  bulging  jerkin. 
Gently  then  from  out  its  shelter 
Drew  he  forth  a  puppy  boar-hound. 
'T  is  a  sickling,"  answered  Telie, 
"  'T  will  not  eat,  and  whines  and  whimpers." 
Gerhard  eyed  the  puppy  closely. 
"Didst  thou  take  a  bunch  of  buckthorn, 
Nailing  it  outside  the  kennel, 
Thereby  warding  off  the  witches? ' 

'Yes,  in  truth,  both  out  and  inside." 
"Dost  thou  always  carry  with  thee 
She-wolf's  heart,  the  cure  for  rabies?  " 

'Yes,"  said  Telie;  and  the  falconer, 
In  a  lowered  voice  continued : 
' '  Take  the  fresh  green  twigs  of  willow, 
Tzaist  and  wind  them  in  a  wreath  ; 
Slip  it  o'er  the  ailing  body, 
Look  above  and  underneath  ; 
If  it  withers ;  sound  and  hale 
Is  the  cur  from  tip  to  tail." 
Then  in  louder  voice  resuming: 
"Do  not  let  the  master  know  it; 
He  is  sore  of  heart  and  moody. 
E'en  his  daughter,  loved  and  gracious, 
Cannot  still  his  fretful  storming. 
In  his  wrath  a  crystal  goblet 
At  my  good-wife's  feet  he  shattered, 
When  he  found  his  wine  lacked  flavor. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  35 

Yet  he  knows  spiced  wine  is  harmful 
When  a  man  is  hot  with  fever. 
Had  the  monstrous  bear  cowed  Wille 
'T  would  have  been  the  Count's  last  hunting; 
Torn  and  bleeding  from  the  battle 
All  the  other  dogs  went  skulking. 
Four  weeks  has  the  wound  been  covered 
With  fit  unguents  and  concoctions. 
Illness  and  restraint  unwonted 
Sorely  vex  our  fiery  master." 
"Soon,  methinks,  the  time  is  coming 
When  we  '11  hunt  again,"  said  Bruno, 
"Else  what  need  of  sharpened  arrows  ? 
Tell  me,  lad — "  he  turned  to  Ludolf, 
Who  sat  silent  in  the  corner — 
'What  ill  news  has  come  upon  thee? 
Thou  seem'st  speech-bereft  and  doleful." 
"Of  the  poacher  I  am  thinking;" 
Answered  Ludolf.     But  his  thoughts  were 
Only  of  the  poacher's  daughter, 
Who  nor  knew  nor  had  suspicion 
Of  her  father's  deadly  danger. 

In  the  oak-walled  Bergfried  chamber 
Lay  the  Count  Hans  Hackelberend, 
Propped  on  pillows,  half  reclining 
On  a  couch  o'erspread  and  softened 
With  the  speckled  skins  of  moose-deer. 
At  his  feet,  the  mastiff  Will<§, 


36  The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  his  head  between  his  forepaws, 

Stretched  upon  a  shaggy  bearskin. 

His  the  strength  that  saved  his  master 

When  the  savage  bear  attacked  him. 

Near,  and  where  the  Count  could  reach  it, 

In  the  corner,  leaned  the  cross-bow, 

Whose  long  stock  and  butt  were  inlaid 

Lavishly  with  pearl  and  silver. 

Often  would  he  take  and  aim  it, 

That  his  weakened  arm  might  strengthen. 

Wan  appeared  the  knight  and  pallid, 

Though  so  tall  and  mighty-sinewed; 

Hair  and  beard  of  raven  blackness 

Made  him  paler  still  by  contrast ; 

Bold  his  Roman  nose  projected, 

And  his  brow  was  seamed  with  furrows; 

Dark  and  deep-sunk  eyes  cast  glances 

Sharp  as  arrow  points,  exacting 

Swift  compliance  with  his  orders. 

On  a  settle  near  a  casement 

Sat  his  only  child,  Wulfhilde, 

Radiant  as  a  rose  unfolding 

On  a  morn  in  early  summer. 

Round  her  face  thick,  wavy  tresses 

In  their  golden  lustre  shimmered  ; 

While  her  graceful,  stately  figure, 

Clad  in  robes  of  silken  samite, 

Close-enfolding,  softly  clinging, 

Showed  in  all  its  youthful  beauty. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  37 

'Neath  her  hands,  upon  the  table, 

Lay  a  frame  with  broidered  colors, 

And  her  white  and  slender  fingers 

Deftly  worked  a  diapered  bridle 

For  her  dappled  gray's  proud  forehead. 

Leaning  on  the  casement's  mullion 

Stood  young  Albrecht  of  Loseinen. 

Firm  his  lips  were,  and  scarce  hidden 

By  a  curling  beard  of  flaxen. 

He  was  Hackelberend's  godchild, 

And  had  sought  his  uncle's  castle, 

There  to  learn  'neath  Gerhard's  guidance 

Falconry  and  skill  in  hunting. 

In  his  hand  he  held  a  parchment 

While  he  scanned  his  kinsman's  features. 

"Read  that  once  again,"  the  Count  bade. 

Then  a  second  time  read  Albrecht: 

"Inasmuch  as  it  is  neither 

Christian-like  nor  meet,  that  neighbors 

To  the  realm  resort  for  justice, 

We  still  hope  that  our  contention 

Will  in  amity  be  settled, 

Giving  us  the  right  of  deer-chase 

Anywhere  within  the  hearing 

Of  the  bells  of  Walkenrieden." 

"Never!"    cried    the    Count.      "Bah!    neigh- 

bors! 
Water  he  's  to  have,  and  pasture; 
Flying  fowl  and  fish  I  '11  grant  him 


38  The  Wild  Huntsman 

During  days  of  Lent  and  fasting; 

Snaring  hare  I  will  permit  him, 

Nor  forbid  the  catch  of  cray-fish; 

But  the  right  of  hounds  and  deer-chase 

Appertains  as  fief  and  tenure 

To  the  castle,  never  doubted 

Or  opposed  by  claim  or  hindrance 

During  two  men's  lives,  full  measured. 

Wood  for  ploughs  and  wood  for  barrows, 

With  the  windfall  will  I  grant  him ; 

But  I  '11  give  him  none  for  building. 

Let  him  sharply  heed  this  warning: 

If  a  monk  falls  in  our  clutches 

Caught  at  stalking  deer,  then  mercy 

Will  avail  him  more  than  justice! 

Suit  before  the  realm  he  talks  of! 

Let  him,  if  it  is  his  pleasure! 

What  fear  I  this  doughty  member 

Of  the  Upper  Saxon  Council? 

Knight  is  less  to  him  than  Abbot.' 

Like  a  solitary  screech-owl 

Sits  he  brooding  in  his  convent. 

Face  to  face  I  've  never  met  him, — 

But  read  on !     I  '11  hear  the  finish 

Of  his  insolent  epistle!  " 

"Item:  as  unworthy  servant 

Of  the  Lord,  and  faithful  guardian 

Of  his  Holy  Church,  we  warn  you 

Hence  forever  to  abandon 


The  Wild  Huntsman  41 

All  your  wickedness  of  living; 

Nor  set  scandalous  example 

With  the  hunt  and  reckless  coursing 

During  festivals  and  feast  days, 

In  the  midst  of  pious  Christians; 

And,  attending  to  the  welfare 

Of  your  soul,  to  seek  our  chapel 

For  confession  and  due  penance; 

Otherwise,  the  Church  will  justly 

Punish  you  for  your  offences." 

"Foolish,  arrogant  old  bigot!  " 

Roared  the  Count,  as,  flushed  and  trembling, 

From  his  couch  he  sprang  in  anger. 

Will£  growled  and  eyed  his  master. 

"Yes,  good  Wille,  neither  of  us 

Cares  a  straw  for  priestly  ranting! 

Let  him  turn  his  red  nose  elsewhere! 

Let  him  keep  it  on  his  Gospels, 

Bound  in  leather  made  of  pig-skin, 

But  not  meddle  with  the  hunter! 

If  the  Archfiend  in  his  body 

Should  attempt  to  stop  my  hunting, 

By  his  horns  and  tail  I  'd  hurl  him 

From  the  castle !     And  this  scare-crow 

Dares  presume  to  check  and  cross  me ! 

All  the  Church's  creeds  and  convents 

Stand  for  cant  and  superstition ! 

'Soul's  salvation'?     Bosh  and  nonsense! 

All  are  worthless,  empty  phrases 


42  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Like  their  'bliss  in  life  hereafter  ' ! 
Hunter's  joy  I  crave!     None  other! 
That  's  my  creed  and  my  salvation! 
To  my  hounds  I  'd  rather  listen 
Than  to  bells  forever  clanging; 
Hunter's  shout,  halloo  and  bugle 
Are  the  'Sanctus'  for  my  chanting! 
Were  the  crucifix  a  cross-bow 
I  would  tear  it  from  the  altar 
To  demolish  all  their  idols!  " 
Neither  Albrecht  nor  Wulfhilde 
Dared  to  answer  or  deter  him 
As  he  raved  about  in  fury, 
Deaf  to  argument  or  prayer. 
Scornful  rolled  his  eyes  and  glittered 
In  his  pallid,  ghostlike  visage. 
Like  a  caged  and  mighty  lion 
That  's  an  hungered,  strode  he  trembling 
Up  and  down  the  wide  apartment. 
"I  am  done  with  salves  and  unguents 
And  enchantments.     All  are  worthless! 
Four  long  weeks  that  seem  eternal 
Am  I  forced  to  curb  my  longing; 
Now,  these  walls  no  more  shall  hold  me 
Banished  from  the  hunt  and  forest! 
Wait!  't  is  well-nigh  Corpus  Christi; 
Thursday  next  our  loudest  bugles 
Shall  resound  near  Walkenrieden, 
And  announce  within  their  cloisters 


The  Wild  Huntsman  43 

How  I  come  to  them  for  penance! 
Go  at  once,  call  Gerhard  to  me !  " 

Albrecht's  glances  met  his  cousin's 

Ere  he  went  to  do  as  bidden. 

Wulfhild'then  approached  her  father, 

Who  had  slowly  grown  more  tranquil, 

Yet  in  measured  strides  kept  pacing; 

And,  her  arm  in  his,  she  pleaded 

With  sweet  tenderness:  "Dear  father, 

Canst  thou  not  defer  this  trial? 

Thou  'rt  still  pale;  thy  wonted  vigor 

Has  from  long  confinement  suffered." 

"Five  more  days  till  Corpus  Christi," 

He  replied,  "full  time  and  over; 

For  my  strength  will  now  come  quickly." 

"First  on  smaller  quarry  practise 

With  the  cross-bow;  take  the  horn-owl; 

Sit  and  rest  within  the  crow-lodge." 

"That  I  will!  "  the  Count  assented, 

"But  we  hunt  on  Corpus  Christi, 

Dead  or  living,  and  I  swear  it! ' 

"Good!  "  said  she,  "but  I  '11  ride  with  thee." 

Chidingly  and  almost  sternly 

Looked  the  father  at  his  daughter; 

Then  more  kindly  he  responded : 

"Thou  shouldst  first  try  thy  fleet  Redcheek: 

Learn  if  he  is  well  conditioned, 

And  the  rein  now  quickly  answers; 


44  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Therefore  ride  him  for  a  hawking, 

And  let  Albrecht  be  thy  escort." 

Was  it  lingering  glow  of  sunset 

That  through  deep  embrasured  casement 

Fell  upon  her  golden  tresses, 

And  o'erspread  her  cheeks  with  roses? 

Albrecht  soon  returned  with  Gerhard. 
"Now,  old  fellow,  for  the  hunting! ' 
Called  the  Count  in  tone  exultant. 
"Our  good  friend  of  Walkenrieden 
Has  sent  word  that  he  forbids  it. 
Hear  our  answer:  Make  all  ready 
For  a  hunt  on  Corpus  Christi!  ' 
"Sir,  it  is  the  Sacred  Blood's  Day," 
Timidly  the  old  man  faltered. 
He,  alone,  as  eldest,  ventured 
Now  and  then  upon  remonstrance, 
Though  his  beaming  eye  showed  clearly 
How  the  love  of  Church  and  hunting 
In  good  Gerhard's  soul  contended. 
"What  of  Blood's  Day!     Foolish  twaddle! 
Art  thou  monk  or  valiant  hunter? 
Vex  me  not  with  arrant  nonsense!  ' 
Scoffed  the  Count.     "Thyself  and  Ludolf 
Start  out  early  on  the  morrow. 
Track  me  out  a  full-branched  crown-stag. 
Bear  to  Wunsch  the  welcome  tidings: 
Soon  we  '11  hunt,  and  I  shall  ride  him. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  45 

He  is  chafing  for  the  forest." 

"Sir,"  spoke  Gerhard,  "do  you  truly 

Mean  so  soon  to  mount  the  stallion? 

He  's  unruly  in  the  stable; 

Valentin  can  scarcely  curb  him." 

"Silence!  or  I  '11  blow  the  bugle, 

Swing  myself  astride  the  saddle, 

And  all  night  tear  through  the  forest! ' 

Roared  the  wrathful  Hackelberend. 

Gerhard  mumbling  left  the  chamber, 

And  espied,  ere  she  could  vanish, 

His  good-wife,  the  Dame  Agnete. 

Straight  she  feigned  that  duties  called  her 

To  the  lonely  Bergfried's  hallways. 

"Thou  here,  woman?"  scowled  the  falconer. 

"Fie  upon  thee;  thou  hast  listened! 

For  thy  penance  and  thy  pardon 

Send  me  now  a  well-filled  tankard." 

"Dar'st  thou  hunt  on  Corpus  Christi?': 

Quavered  piously  Agnete. 

"Silence!     Do  as  I  have  bidden," 

Ordered  Gerhard  from  the  stairway. 

"What  a  life  of  sin  and  evil;  " 

Muttered  she,  "thou  'rt  ever  tippling!  ' 

Gerhard  joined  his  hunting  comrades 
In  the  hall,  now  brightly  lighted 
By  two  blazing  pine  wood  torches. 
Bruno,  Valentin  and  Ludolf 


46  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Sprawled  upon  a  bench,  while  Telie 

Leaned  against  the  rock-hewn  chimney ; 

And  upon  the  oaken  table, 

With  his  bandy  legs  adangle, 

Perched  the  hunchbacked  warder,  Wenzel, 

Asking  each  to  share  the  stork-drink 

Measured  out  to  him  unstinted. 

All  were  gay  and  making  merry, 

And  above  the  joyful  clamor 

Rang  a  sounding  huntsman's  chorus: 

Away!  Azvay!  ye  huntsmen  fleet, 

Who  serve  a  valiant  knigJit ; 
All  day  about  the  wood  we  beat, 
The  chase  is  our  delight. 

With  spear  and  bow 

Equipped  we  go  ; 

Through  castle  and  through  hall 

We  sound  our  bugle  call : 

Hift!     Hift !     Hal-lo-lo ! 

Ty-u-ho  !     Dor-i-do  ! 

Where  hies,  where  flies  the  noble  deer  ? 

Seek!    Seek  !     my  dog  !     Seek  !     Seek  ! 
Scent  right  and  left  and  far  and  near, 
From  fen  to  mountain  peak. 
We  heed  not  thorns, 
Nor  hoof  nor  horns, 
And  ne ' er  will  stay  our  pace 


The  Wild  Huntsman  47 

Until  we  end  his  race. 
Hift  !     Hift  /     Hal-lo-lo  ! 
Ty-u-ho  !     Dor-i-do  ! 

Then  for  the  inn  and  its  good  cheer  ! 

No  hunter  there  fares  ill ; 
Enamored  of  onr  wild  career 
Fair  maids  our  tankards  fill. 

Mid  merry  laugh 

We  pledge  and  quaff, 

And  sing  and  dance  and  play 

To  chase  dull  care  away. 

Hift  !     Hift  !     Hal-lo-lo  ! 

Ty-u-ho  !     Dor-i-do  ! 

"By  my  troth,  thou  canst  be  generous, 
Wenzel,  thus  to  share  thy  portion," 
Gerhard  gulped  deep  from  his  bumper, 
"Freely  drink!     For  more  is  coming; 
'Huntsman,  Hail! '  we  all  can  pledge  thee." 
And  he  drained  the  frothing  liquor, 
While  he  told  his  fellow  wardens 
What  the  Count  of  each  expected. 

Christel,  Wulfhild's  comely  handmaid, 
With  a  brimming  jug  now  entered. 
"Tarry,  lass,  and  pledge  the  warder  " ; 
Cried  the  groom,  "why  shouldst  thou  hurry?" 
"Huntsman,  Hail!  "  she  gaily  answered; 


48  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  the  foaming  tankard  raising, 
Tittered,  laughed  and  kept  on  laughing 
Till  she  could  not  drink  a  swallow. 
Telie  threw  his  arms  about  her; 
But  the  maiden  stoutly  struggled, 
And  escaped,  her  kiss  withholding. 
Mid  hilarious  cheer  and  laughter, 
To  the  lute  then  sang  the  warder: 

A  merry  crezv  of  four  oft  met 

In  every  kind  of  weather; 
And  forth  upon  their  way  they  set 

O'er  hill  and  dale  together. 
The  name  of  one  was  Thirsty  Lip, 
With  Laughing  Lip  much  smitten; 
Another  one  was  Singing  Lip 

And  Kissing  Lip,  his  kitten. 

When  Singing  Lip  a  ditty  sung, 

Then  Kissing  Lip  would  cheer  him  ; 
When  Thirsty  Lip  the  pitcher  swung, 

Then  Laughing  Lip  sat  near  him  ; 
When  Kissing  Lip  her  mouth  zvoidd  bow, 

Then  Singing  Lip  kept  winking; 
When  Laughing  Lip  her  pearls  did  show, 

Then  Thirsty  Lip  quit  drinking. 

But  now,  from  sheerest  accident, 
And  then,  by  shy  collusion, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  49 

Things  pell-mell,  topsy-turvy  went, 

Creating  much  confusion. 
Thus  Singing  Lip  and  Laughing  Lip 

Got  mixed  sometimes — no  wonder  ! 
And  Thirsty  Lip  and  Kissing  Lip 

Would  likewise  often  blunder. 

At  times  it  chanced,  that  Singing  Lip 

Had  tliirst  that  needed  quenching ; 
And  in  his  stead,  then,  Thirsty  Lip 

Sang  with  a  will,  unflinching. 
And  Lang  J  ting  Lip  in  happy  vein 

To  kissing  turned  thereafter  ; 
While  Kissing  Lip  could  not  refrain 

From  hearty  peals  of  laughter. 

Thus  the  jolly  hunting  comrades 
With  both  song  and  drink  made  merry 
In  the  castle,  till  the  fleeting 
Hours  of  night  to  sleep  persuaded; 
While  without,  the  silent  moonlight 
Wove  its  spell  o'er  all  the  forest. 
Valley,  rock  and  mountain  rested 
Here  in  light,  and  there  in  shadow; 
Deep  the  stillness,  broken  only 
By  a  distant  hooting  owlet ; 
And  the  Bode's  waters  glided 
Gently  past  with  sheen  of  silver. 


IV 


Forest    Rest 

/^OCKNELS  and  darnels  and  quivering  grass, 

With  the  pink  sprays  of  the  heather, 
Buttercups  culled  in  a  bright  golden  mass, 

Speedwell  and  daisies  1 71  gather. 
Primrose  and  fragrant  germander  between 

Blend  with  the  honey-filled  clover — 
Forest-grown  posies,  the  daintiest  seen, 

Waft  your  sweet  scent  to  my  lover  ! 

Singing  to  her  forest  brethren, 
Like  the  spirit  of  the  wildwood 
Waldtraut  wanders  'neath  its  arches, 
Free  as  are  the  roving  zephyrs, 
Plucking  flowers  upon  her  pathway. 
Here,  she  finds  the  ants  hill-building; 
There,  espies  an  empty  bird's  nest; 
Peers  among  the  hazel  bushes, 
Chides  the  ones  that  seem  unfruitful, 
As  if  dryad  she  or  guardian 

50 


The  Wild  Huntsman  51 

Of  each  gentle  sylvan  creature. 
Now  she  stoops  with  words  of  pity 
For  an  herb  with  tear-filled  blossoms: 
"Poor  Way  wait!     Art  still  forsaken? 
Hope  thou  on !     For  time  may  bring  thee 
Him  for  whom  thou  'rt  ever  yearning." 
And  she  flits  along  half-humming: 

She  waited  long,  a  pale  young  maid ; 
Lone  through  the  day  and  night  she  staid 
For  him  she  loved,  by  the  wayside. 
Way  wait  !      Way  wait  ! 

Said  she  :    "  Though  I  strike  root  in  ground, 
Till  Judgment  Day  and  Trumpet  Sound 
I'll  bide  for  thee  by  the  wayside  !  ' 
Way  wait !      Way  wait ! 

The  lad  forgot  the  pledge  he  gave  ; 
And  there  upon  her  lonely  grave 
A  floxveret  blooms  by  the  zvayside. 
Way  wait  /      Way  zv  ait  ! 

The  summer  comes  ;  the  summer  goes  ; 
The  autumn  wind  o '  er  the  heather  blows  ; 
A  floweret  weeps  by  the  wayside. 
Waywait !      Waywait ! 

As  her  song's  soft  cadence  ceases 
In  the  brush  she  hears  a  rustling, 


52  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And,  behold,  a  fox  made  captive! 
"Why,  thou  sly  one,  where  's  thy  cunning? 
Thus  she  playfully  salutes  him, 
'Thou,  of  all  deceit  the  master, 
By  dull  man  to  be  outwitted ! 
Nay,  thy  snapping  will  not  help  thee; 
But  since  one  must  aid  one's  neighbors, 
An  thou  bite  not,  I  will  free  thee." 
As  the  lock  yields  to  her  pressure 
Reynard,  sly  and  nimble-footed, 
Speeds  into  the  friendly  shadows. 
Gleeful  is  the  maiden's  laughter 
As  she  sets  the  trap  and  baits  it ; 
Then  she  trips  along  in  gladness 
All  her  joy  in  song  outrippling: 

0  blue  bells  sweet,  why  do  ye  ring? 
Hath  aught  from  life  departed  ? 

Or  zvere  ye  witness  in  the  wood 
Where  two  met  loving-hearted? 

Or  know  ye  where  on  lonely  paths 
My  steps  and  mind  go  straying  ? 

1  do  not  hear  your  chimes,  O  bells, 
But  tuneful  is  your  swaying. 

Ring  out  the  tale  to  listening  leaves, 
Ring  out  like  angels'  voices, 

Till  every  blade  and  shrub  and  tree 
In  my  great  bliss  rejoices  ! 


The  Wild  Huntsman  53 

Through  all  the  world  the  widest  search 

None  happier  can  discover  ! 
My  heart  is  full  of  joy,  blue  bells, 

I  love  a?id  have  a  lover  ! 

Dawn  had  scarce  dispelled  the  darkness 
When  the  falconer  and  Ludolf 
Crossed  the  drawbridge  for  the  forest, 
There  to  seek  the  kingly  crown  stag; 
Each  to  search  alone  till  noontide, 
Then  to  meet  beside  a  brooklet. 
As  the  sun  rose  to  mid-heaven, 
Gerhard  neared  the  rough-hewn  turnstile, 
And  within  the  peaceful  shadows 
Sat  him  on  a  mossy  boulder 
To  await  his  comrade's  coming. 
"Young  men  better  fare  than  old  men 
In  the  chase  as  in  the  wooing;" 
Grumbled  he,  "but  little  found  I; 
None  of  more  than  fourteen  branches: 
That  close  stepper  nigh  the  cross-path 
Was  no  quarry  for  the  master." 
Then  his  hand  delved  down  the  timewom 
Hunting  pouch  that  held  his  breakfast. 
As  he  cut  his  meat  and  piecemeal 
Stuck  and  raised  it  on  his  knife-point, 
On  his  face,  well  bronzed  and  bearded, 
Soon  there  beamed  content  and  pleasure. 
Nodding  head  and  clumsy  gestures, 


54  The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  a  "Humph"  and  "Ha"  low  spoken, 
Marked  his  shifting  thoughts  and  musings. 
Bright  small  eyes,  alert  and  watchful, 
Glanced  good-naturedly  about  him ; 
Round  them  played  the  tiny  wrinkles 
That  men  jestingly  call  "crowfeet  "  ; 
And  beneath  his  buckskin  jerkin — 
Smoother  far  from  length  of  service 
Than  his  hands  of  barklike  roughness — 
Beat  a  heart  to  duty  faithful, 
Tender,  pitying,  but  fearless. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  to  listen 
With  a  gobbet  on  his  knife-point. 
'Ho,  there!  Rough  Tail,  little  rascal! 
Well  wouldst  thou  adorn  my  griddle! ' 
Laughed  he,  looking  up  the  beech  tree, 
Where  the  leaves  splashed,  as  a  squirrel 
Sprang  from  branch  to  branch  unfrightened. 
Sitting  up  within  the  shadow 
Of  his  bushy  tail,  Sir  Bright  Eyes 
Showed  the  white  beneath  his  belly ; 
Then  with  lightning  speed  he  scampered 
In  alarm  along  the  branches. 
Gerhard  quickly  turned  to  listen, 
And  heard  Ludolf's  footsteps  rustling 
Through  the  leaves,  that  dry  and  withered 
Litter  all  the  woodland  hollows. 
Gerhard,  as  he  saw  him  coming 
Through  the  light  gray  stems  of  beeches, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  55 

Called  to  him  in  hunter's  parlance: 
u  Ho-ho  !  good  hunter,  what  since  dawn 
Hast  thou  from  its  cover  drawn  ?  ' 
Ludolf  readily  gave  answer: 
"Ho-ho  !  dear  hunter,  the  signs  are  clear, 
A  boar  with  tusks,  a  chase-worthy  deer  ; 
Ho-ho  !  that  fills  the  heart  with  cheer." 
Sitting  down  beside  the  falconer, 
He  described  to  him  minutely 
All  the  sundry  signs  and  traces 
He  'd  discovered  in  his  searching; 
Spoke  of  deer  returns  and  changes, 
Of  their  Jiarbor,  runways,  lodges, 
What  their  slot  had  indicated  ; 
How  a  crown  stag  had  with  antlers 
Bruised  and  twisted  leaves  and  branches; 
Of  the  two  and  seventy  tokens 
Known  to  hunters  skilled  in  wood-craft, 
He  of  this  and  that  made  mention, 
Pointing  to  the  game's  near  presence. 
'T  was,  in  short,  by  measure  proven, 
That  the  stag,  whose  trail  he  'd  followed, 
Had  full  two  and  twenty  branches. 
Well  content,  the  waggish  falconer 
Asked  again  in  huntsman's  jargon: 
'■Hunter,  canst  thou  tell  me  true, 
What  is  whiter  than  the  snow, 
A  nd  is  blacker  than  the  crow, 
Greener  than  the  pine  is  clad, 


56  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Shrewder  than  the  hunter '  s  lad  ?  ' 
Ludolf  paused,  but  soon  retorted: 
"Day  is  whiter  than  the  snow  ; 
Night  is  blacker  than  the  crow ; 
Hope  the  freshest  green  can  show  ; 
And  a  bonnie  lass  is  ever 

Than  a  hunter's  lad  more  clever." 
And  he  thereupon  made  ready 
To  return  within  the  forest. 

'Whither  go'st  thou?"  Gerhard  asked  him. 
"To  the  fox  trap  that  I  baited." 
' '  Go  then  !     Leave  with  '  Huntsman  Hail '  ; 
May  God's  help  thee  never  fail !  ' 
Ludolf  in  return  saluted  : 
"  Dear  hunter,  thee  I  too  bid  '  Hail '  / 
God 's  blessing  with  us  both  prevail." 
Well  upon  his  errand  started, 
Gerhard's  jesting  words  o'ertook  him: 
"Hear  my  warning,  brave  young  master, 
And  avoid  all  aged  women  ; 
For  ill  luck  they  bring  the  hunter." 
"I  '11  take  heed,"  he  laughed  in  answer. 
"  Oh,  a  deer  with  twenty  branches, 
A  nd  a  damsel  sweet  and  comely, 
Set  the  hunter  s  heart  to  beating," 
To  himself  the  old  man  mumbled. 

Ludolf  hastened  through  the  forest 
Till  he  reached  the  baited  fox  trap. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  57 

Still  it  stood  as  he  had  set  it, 

But  he  eyed  it  with  suspicion. 

"Zounds,  what  's  this!  "  he  cried  in  wonder, 

"There  's  no  doubt  the  bait  was  nibbled; 

Here  of  blood  I  see  a  driblet, 

And  a  flock  of  fur — a  fox's! 

Who  has  dared  to  meddle  with  it — 

Dared  to  free  what  here  was  captured, 

Then  reset  the  trap  so  poorly? 

That  was  never  done  by  huntsman !  ' 

Wondering  still,  he  hears  distinctly 

Sounds  like  faintly  smothered  laughter. 

And  behold  !  but  little  distant 

From  behind  a  giant  beech  tree, 

Peers  a  roguish  face  half-hidden. 

' '  Waldtraut !     Thou  !     Thou  art  the  culprit ! ' ' 

And  he  makes  a  bound  to  reach  her; 

But  she  springs  with  squirrel  swiftness 

Round  the  beech,  her  merry  laughter 

Deep  within  the  forest  ringing. 

Oft  in  vain  he  tries  to  catch  her, 

But  the  wary  maid  escapes  him. 

Long  they  thus  chase  one  another, 

Circling  round  among  the  beech  trees 

Till  the  cheeks  of  both  are  glowing. 

But  at  last  he  overtakes  her, 

And  her  breathless  mouth  oft  kisses; 

Both  her  arms  around  him  twining, 

Heartily,  with  forest  freshness, 


58  The  Wild  Huntsman 

She  returns  his  fond  caresses. 

"Now  deliver  up  my  captive, 

Or  be  one  thyself!  "  he  banters. 

"Oh,  the  fox  sends  thee  his  greeting; 

Look!  he  ran  round  yonder  hillock. 

Haste  !     Make  haste !     Thou  still  mayst  catch 

him !  " 
'What!     Thou  gav'st  the  fox  his  freedom!  " 
He  exclaims  in  feigned  displeasure, 
"Tell  me  how  to  punish  fitly 
Such  a  rogue  and  good-for-nothing! ' 
"Dost  thou  think  I  'd  leave  in  peril 
Any  of  my  woodland  brethren? 
They  would  come  in  hosts  to  aid  me, 
If  I  were  beset  by  danger." 
"This  time,  then,  thou  'It  be  forgiven, 
But  be  sure  that  in  the  future 
I  shall  keep  the  trap  well  hidden." 

Happily  they  sauntered  onward. 
Golden  sunbeams,  downward  streaming, 
Played  along  their  quiet  pathway, 
Standing  out  athwart  the  twilight 
Like  the  gildeu  stripe  that  crosses 
Field  of  dark  upon  a  scutcheon. 
In  the  mellow  rays  there  hovered 
Myriads  of  motes  and  atoms, 
And  a  host  of  gleaming  insects, 
With  their  shining  wings  and  armor, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  59 

Humming,  buzzing,  up  and  downward. 
Suddenly,  as  if  in  concert, 
Motionless  they  'd  pause,  suspended 
In  the  air,  afloat  and  lifeless, 
Till  they  darted  quickly  sidewise 
As  an  alien  kind  approached  them. 
Round  the  silvery  trunks  of  beeches 
Fitful,  changing  lights  were  flitting, 
And  so  lucent  and  transparent 
Shone  the  verdant,  sap-filled  leaflets, 
That  the  tiny  veins,  outbranching, 
Could  be  traced  in  their  minuteness. 
In  the  mosses'  own  dense  forest, 
On  the  blades  and  slender  stalk-masts, 
Through  the  twisted,  curly  lichens, 
Climbed  and  straggled  horny  beetles, 
Brilliant  in  their  bronze  and  steel-blue. 
As  if  drunk  with  air  and  sunlight, 
Reeled  gay  butterflies,  and  staggered 
From  one  chalice  to  another, 
Fluttering  on  from  flower  to  flower, 
Till  o'ercome  by  leaden  fragrance, 
High  they  joined  their  wings  for  slumber. 
Grains  of  sand  and  gravel  glistened 
Where  the  glaring  sunbeams  shimmered 
On  the  bare  and  barren  patches, 
And  upon  the  boulders  sparkled 
Crystal  quartz  and  silver  mica. 
In  the  sunshine  basked  a  lizard. 


60  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Lone  a  spinner  crossed  the  pathway 
Hobbling  on  his  giddy  stilt-legs. 
Through  the  wood  reigned  deepest  silence. 
*T  was  the  restful  hour  of  noontide, 
And  a  golden  glimmer  wavered 
Through  the  air,  serene  and  breathless. 
Straying  sounds  at  times  came  floating 
As  if  from  some  boundless  distance. 
Game  of  every  kind  had  vanished 
And  the  thousand  birds  were  songless, 
Drowsing  in  the  upper  branches. 
Every  eyelid  drooped  in  languor, 
Save  alone  the  love-awakened. 

'Neath  a  shading  giant  oak  tree 
Ludolf  and  his  loved  one  rested. 
Couched  upon  the  yielding  mosses, 
Waldtraut's  head  and  straying  tresses 
In  her  lover's  arms  lay  pillowed. 
With  her  eyes  so  blue  and  tender 
She  looked  up  to  him  confiding, 
As  a  child  looks  from  its  cradle, 
While  she  loosened  from  her  bodice 
Sprays  of  flowers,  which  she  fastened 
On  the  hunter's  leathern  jerkin. 
Steadfast  gazed  he  down  upon  her, 
Deep  into  her  eyes  and  deeper; 
And  he  looked  with  love  and  longing 
On  her  swelling  lips  of  crimson, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  61 

That  allured  him  by  their  beauty 
Like  to  full-blown,  fragrant  roses. 
Truly  these  were  magic  roses, 
Charming  him  to  sip  their  sweetness. 
Yet  no  thunder  clap  resounded 
To  transform  his  forest  princess 
Into  legend's  grewsome  monster. 
Still  he  saw  her  sweet  and  gentle. 
Now  a  lady-bird  flew  toward  her, 
Spotted  black  and  red,  alighting 
On  her  hand  ;  she  gaily  asked  him  : 
"Canst  thou  tell  of  this  the  import? 
Wedding  gloves  foretells  the  beetle 
For  the  hand  on  which  it  settles." 
Crawling  o'er  her  palm  the  insect 
Fell  by  chance  into  its  hollow, 
Lying  there  without  a  motion. 
Straight  upon  its  feet  she  turned  it. 
"Wait!  "  said  Ludolf,  "watch  it  struggle! 
See  if  it  gets  up  unaided." 
"Fie!  "  chid  Waldtraut,  "let  it  struggle? 
Giving  aid  to  any  creature 
As  it  lies  in  pain  or  helpless 
Is  for  seven  sins  remission." 
"Seven  sins!  "  said  Ludolf,  laughing, 
"Tell  me  of  a  sin,  my  sweetheart, 
That  bears  heavy  on  thy  conscience." 
"I  am  sinning  now,"  she  answered, 
"By  such  waste  of  time  in  chatting. 


62  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Look!     The  sun !     'T  is  past  the  midday, 
And  I  must  no  longer  loiter, 
For  to-day  my  aged  grandam 
From  the  valley  comes  to  see  us." 
They  arose  and  strolled  together, 
Hand  in  hand  amid  the  stillness. 
When  at  last  they  neared  the  coal-kiln, 
And  the  smoke  above  the  tree  tops 
Warned  them  that  their  tryst  was  ended, — 
There,  as  from  the  ground  arisen, 
Collier  Volrat  stood  and  faced  them ! 
Gloomy  was  his  sooty  visage, 
Large  and  powerful  his  figure, 
Strong  of  bone  in  limb  and  body. 
Waldtraut  started,  sorely  frightened, 
And  withdrew  her  hand  from  Ludolf's. 
But  the  angry  collier  shouted :  * 
"What  dost  thou  beside  my  daughter? 
Let  me  meet  ye  so  together 
Once  again,  and  both  shall  rue  it! ' 
"Master  Volrat,  there  's  no  danger 
For  thy  child  with  my  protection. 
God  knows  I  speak  true!  "  said  Ludolf. 
"I  will  look  to  her  protection! ' 
Roared  the  collier,  "and  I  warn  you, 
Hunters  all,  to  keep  your  distance! ' 
Calmly  spoke  the  sturdy  huntsman: 
"Let  me  give  thee  well-meant  counsel: 
Let  me  warn  thee  of  my  master. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  63 

Who  is  tracking  down  the  poacher 
That  goes  hunting  in  his  forest. 
He  has  sworn  to  kill  the  culprit." 
Volrat  winced,  and  then  he  answered, 
With  a  laugh  both  wild  and  scornful : 
"Save  thy  precious  wisdom,  milksop! 
Let  the  Count  himself,  thy  master, 
Bring  no  further  hardship  on  us, 
Or  the  peasant  soon  will  settle, 
By  the  right  of  might,  his  grudges 
Long  laid  up  against  the  barons. 
If  he  waits  until  the  League  Shoe 
Raises  through  the  Hartz  its  banner, 
He  will  rue  his  stubborn  blindness!  " 
Turning  quickly  to  his  daughter, 
He  commanded  her  to  leave  them. 
Trembling  stood  the  downcast  maiden, 
While  hot  tears  betrayed  her  anguish, 
And  her  eyes  in  silent  sorrow 
Sought  the  steadfast  eyes  of  Ludolf. 
Low  she  wept  as  she  departed. 

Heavy  hearted  yet  not  hopeless, 
Ludolf  took  the  homeward  pathway. 
Gloomy  thoughts  now  darkly  flitted 
Through  his  mind,  and  deep  he  pondered 
How  to  win  the  trust  and  favor 
Of  the  wrathful  sullen  collier; 
How  to  stay  the  deadly  peril 


64  The  Wild  Huntsman 

That  now  threatened  Waldtraut's  father; 
How  he,  too,  although  forbidden, 
Might  still  meet  his  forest  sweetheart. 
All  of  this  with  hoping,  dreading, 
Forming  plans  but  to  reject  them, 
Weighed  he  in  his  heart's  depression, 
Scarcely  minding  where  he  wandered, 
When  an  old,  decrepit  woman, 
Pacing  slow,  came  limping  toward  him. 
"Ill  my  luck!     There  comes  the  evil! 
'T  is  the  hag  of  Gerhard's  warning!  ' 
As  the  two  drew  near  each  other, 
In  the  path  she  paused  and  waited. 
Bending  low  beneath  the  burden 
Of  the  many  years  she  carried, 
On  a  crutch  she  feebly  rested, 
Looking  up  at  him  intently. 
From  her  withered,  sallow  visage, 
Furrowed  by  a  thousand  wrinkles, 
Peered  a  pair  of  eyes  resembling 
Those  of  owls,— large,  gray,  and  glowing. 
Ludolf  thought  to  pass  in  silence, 
But  she  hailed  him  with  the  greeting : 
"May  God  bless  thee,  fair  young  hunter! ' 
"Bless  thee  also,"  muttered  Ludolf. 
"Canst  thou  tarry  but  a  little? 
Let  me  scan  thy  face,  I  beg  thee; 
There  's  a  line  that  I  have  noted 
'Twixt  thy  brows,  of  special  promise. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  65 

Tell  me,  'neath  what  constellation 

Wast    thou    born,    my    good    young    hunts- 
man? " 

"What  is  that  to  thee?"  growled  Ludolf. 

"Be  not  vexed  with  me,  I  pray  thee! 

Dost  not  know  me?     I  am  Aulke; 

Dost  not  know  old  Mother  Aulke? 

Show  thy  hand  that  I  may  read  it. 

No — the  right  one.     Why,  God  bless  thee ! 

My  own  grandchild  has  such  markings ! 

Strange    that    thine    should    be    like    Wald- 
traut's ! 

Thou  art  startled ;  did  my  fingers 

Hurt  thee?     They  are  hard  and  bony." 

Ludolf  shook  his  head  bewildered, 

Smiling  like  a  bashful  maiden. 

Then  her  every  word  he  heeded  ; 

And  she  spoke,  while  closely  scanning 

All  the  palm  lines  of  the  hunter: 

"Widely  branches  out  the  head-line 

Round  the  thumb,  and  great  its  power; 

So,  the  Sun-line,  line  of  honor, 

Is  distinct  upon  the  table. 

There  's  a  well  formed  Cave  of  Martin ; 

Deep  and  safe  's  the  Venus  Girdle; 

But  the  Mount  of  Saturn  warns  thee. 

Dost  thou  care  to  know,  young  huntsman, 

What  concerns  thy  fate  and  fortune?" 

Ludolf  eagerly  assented. 
5 


66  The  Wild  Huntsman 

"Many  years  of  life  are  promised; 

To  thy  name  will  much  be  added ; 

But  the  best  of  all  the  prizes 

Is  the  one  that  love  will  grant  thee. 

Well-a-day !     A  sign  here  tells  me 

With  my  very  kith  and  kindred 

Thou  wilt  come  in  closer  union. 

But  a  line  here  points  to  bloodshed; 

Danger,  too,  thou  wilt  encounter; 

Shouldst  thou  pass  it,  then  will  follow 

Other  hardships ;  angry  quarrels, 

Flames  and  smoke  and  murder  see  I ; 

Though  thou  dost  not  cause,  nor  bring  them, 

Nor  without  thee  could  they  happen. 

But  no  more,  for  often  knowledge 

Brings  us  pain  and  hastens  evil." 

"Nay,  but  tell  me,  Mother  Volrat," 

Now  begged  Ludolf,  "I  will  pay  thee, 

And  will  ever  be  beholden." 

"  No,  my  lad  !     I  take  no  money  ; 

I  want  neither  thanks  nor  payment, 

But  we  '11  meet  again  and  often." 

Then  she  turned  and  hobbled  onward. 

Ludolf,  deeply  stirred,  departed, 

Pondering  long,  and  ever  seeing 

Waldtraut  in  the  midst  of  danger. 

And  he  vowed  within  his  bosom 

With  his  utmost  strength  to  shield  her. 

But  as  oft  as  he  glanced  backward, 


The  Wild  Huntsman 


67 


He  saw  Mother  Aulke  standing, 
Looking  round  at  him  and  nodding, 
Speaking  and  with  gestures  beckoning, 
Though  her  words  he  heard  no  longer. 


v 


The  Stag  Hunt 


Y/"is  sleepers,  awaken  ! 

The  mist  veil  ascends, 
The  East  with  an  ocean 

Of  fire  now  blends. 
High  mountain  crests  glisten 

First  kissed  by  a  ray  ; 

The  songsters  make  ready 

To  hail  the  new  day. 

Come  on,  ye  good  comrades, 

And  follow  the  trail ! 
The  fragrance  of  blossoms 

Fills  upland  and  dale. 
A  draught  that  refreshes, 

Then  hie  to  the  zvood  / 
The  life  of  the  hunter 

Is  joyful  and  good  ! 

Thus  from  the  Bergfried's  turret  chamber 
The  warder  greets  the  dawn  of  day, 

68 


The  Wild  Huntsman  69 

And  with  the  merry  song  commingles 

The  starling's  pipe,  the  lark's  sweet  lay. 
Aurora's  rosy  blushes  mantle 

The  massive  moss-clad  walls  of  stone, 
And  on  each  casement's  sparkling  mirror 

A  flood  of  glowing  flame  is  thrown. 
With  break  of  day  the  chase  companions 

Slip  on  their  hunting  garb  with  speed, 
Attend  to  hounds  and  groom  the  horses, 

And  choose  the  weapons  for  their  need. 
The  serving  men  and  maids  all  hasten, 

And  help  Agnete  to  prepare 
Meet  viands  for  the  saddle  pouches, 

And  flagons  safe  in  wickerware. 
Wulfhilde  rises  from  her  pillow 

As  dawn  dispels  the  mists  below; 
A  cooling  bath  once  more  refreshes 

Her  youthful  body's  rosy  glow. 
The  Count,  by  his  impatience  tortured, 

Oft  scanned  the  East  with  restless  gaze ; 
The  night  half-sped  still  found  him  wakeful, 

Or  captive  in  a  dream-spun  maze. 
In  vain  he  strove  to  gain  a  hillside, 

But  all  his  efforts  went  amiss; 
Then  with  a  rush  the  stallion  bore  him 

Far  down  a  yawning  precipice. 
A  wounded  bear  did  next  pursue  him. 

He  blew  his  horn;  it  gave  no  sound; 
And  springing  up,  chagrined  and  rueful, 


70  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Instead  of  dawn,  dense  darkness  found. 
Again  he  dreamed :  To  stab  a  roebuck 

He  'd  thrown  himself  upon  his  knee, 
When  suddenly  he  wide  awakened, 

To  hear  his  own  loud  ha-la-li. 
He  flings  the  ponderous  casement  open 

To  cool  his  temples  in  the  breeze : 
"A  hunter  free,  O  Wind,  thou  roamest, 

While  I,  enthralled,  find  no  release! ' 
Then  listens — in  its  wonted  channel 

Naught  but  the  murmuring  stream  he  hears; 
Against  his  cheek  his  bow  he  presses, 

Yet  stays  his  hand  till  day  appears. 
"Will  morning  ne'er  this  darkness  vanquish? 

O,  Night!  I  curse  thy  snail-like  pace! 
'T  is  light  I  want !     Light !  light  to  hunt  by, 

As  long  as  there  's  a  deer  to  chase !  ' 
In  vain  he  rails  and  chafes  impatient , 

The  light  no  faster  speeds  through  space. 
Till  lo!     The  pines,  high  on  the  summits, 

Behold  the  sun's  effulgent  face. 
Then  sings  the  warder  from  the  tower, 

And  hard  upon  his  song  of  morn 
The  Knight  hears  stamping  on  the  cobbles; 

Enticing  blares  the  bugle  horn. 
He  soon  descends,  and  to  the  greetings 

Of  "Huntsman  Hail!  "  gives  like  replies, 
Around  the  court  casts  searching  glances, 

And  as  his  daughter  he  espies, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  71 

Her  brow  with  tenderness  he  kisses, 

Then  hastens  to  his  neighing  steed  — 
A  horse  unmatched  in  all  creation, 

In  either  form,  or  strength  or  speed. 
His  swelling  veins  seem  almost  bursting; 

With  dauntless  mettle  gleams  his  eye, 
As  if  upborne  by  hidden  pinions. 

He  'd  with  the  soaring  storm  king  vie. 
The  Count  leaps  lightly  to  the  saddle, 

When  rearing,  pitching,  whirling  round, 
Wunsch  dashes  off  in  mad  endeavor 

To  hurl  his  rider  to  the  ground. 
The  Count  betrays  no  agitation, 

And,  statue-like,  unmoved  appears; 
His  heart  amid  ordeal  and  danger 

Beats  ever  calm,  devoid  of  fears. 
And  snorting,  plunging,  wildly  leaping 

The  steed  careers,  on  freedom  bent, 
Till,  conscious  he  has  found  his  master, 

Subdued  he  stands,  his  fury  spent. 

Now  for  the  wood !     His  eager  escort 

The  Knight  with  buoyant  heart  leads  on — 
Young  Albrecht  at  the  side  of  Wulfhild'  ; 

The  others  follow,  one  by  one, 
Save  Ludolf,  who  beneath  the  starlight 

To  trace  the  stag  had  gone  ahead ; 
For  him  and  Telie,  with  his  kennel, 

Two  horses  by  the  rein  are  led. 


72  The  Wild  Huntsman 

"Away!     Away!     The  Chase,  ye  Hunters!' 

With  but  one  thought  all  hearts  beat  high; 
Dew  sparkles  in  the  morning  sunshine, 

And  hunter's  joy  in  every  eye. 
The  signs  they  follow  in  the  forest 

That  Ludolf  marked  from  place  to  place 
By  broken  twigs  and  twisted  saplings, 

So  they  with  ease  their  course  can  trace. 
Their  ride  is  long,  and  oft  they  signal 

With  bugle  and  loud  hunting  cry; 
They  listen  for  response  from  Ludolf, 

But  wait  in  vain  for  his  reply. 
At  last  they  hear,  like  chimes  far  distant, 

Hour-var-i!  faintly  from  a  horn; 
The  pack  with  yelps  the  signal  answers ; 

All  with  a  rush  are  onward  borne. 
They  ride  as  if  for  pending  wager; 

"Ho-Ho!   Ty-o-ho  !   Come  on  !"  they  cheer, 
Through    copse    and    fen,    till    Ludolf    hails 
them, 

With  Telie  bringing  up  the  rear. 
"A  merry  chase  thy  horn  hath  led  us," 

The  Count  exclaims,  "nor  did  we  lag." 
"Alas!  Sir  Count,  your  haste  was  needless; 

Loud  noises  frightened  off  the  stag ; 
The  peasants  marched  across  the  forest 

With  song  and  banners  in  their  train 
To  sacred  service  in  the  convent, 

And  thus  my  efforts  all  were  vain. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  73 

For  this  which  drove  him  to  his  covert, 

The  Walkenriedens  are  to  blame ; 
He  will  return  as  shadows  lengthen; 

I  've  marked  where  we  can  bag  the  game." 
"Ye  monks,  descendants  of  the  devil, 

Who  are  forever  in  my  way, 
I  '11  settle  with  ye,  saintly  villains — 

And  soon  ye'll  need  to  fast  and  pray ! ' 
Thus  fumes  the  Count,  then  gives  the  order: 

"Take  off  the  saddles  while  we  wait; 
Spread  out  the  luncheon;  pass  the  tankards; 

We  '11  camp  here,  since  we  stay  till  late! ': 
The  steeds  are  left  to  graze  contented, 

Accustomed  in  the  wood  to  roam; 
The  men  stretch  out  upon  the  greensward 

And  rest  within  their  forest  home. 

Here  tarry  they,  attack  their  luncheon, 

And  pass  the  flowing  beakers  round ; 
To  while  away  the  hour  more  swiftly 

Hilarious  songs  and  jokes  resound. 
They  see  whilst  their  repast  enjoying 

A  wandering  student  drawing  near. 
"Behold!  "  the  Count  calls  out,  "an  offspring 

Of  that  detested  tribe  comes  here! 
Whence  hail'st  thou  in  thy  dusty  tatters, 

Whom  naught  can  e'er  with  toil  acquaint? 
Thy  face  suffices  to  condemn  thee; 

Pray,  whom  avowest  thou  thy  saint?' 


>  p 


74  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Thus  rudely  he  accosts  the  vagrant, 

Who  stops  and  keenly  glances  round, 
Reflecting:  "Gad!  but  he  's  a  sharp  one; 

Methinks  I  've  stepped  on  slippery  ground  ! 
Then  speaks:  "My  sail  is  ever  hoisted; 

My  monastery  's  all  the  world ; 
The  rules  that  bind  me — song  and  frolic, 

And    neath  each  tree  my  tent  's  unfurled." 
"Good!'    laughs  the  Count,  "a  lucky  meet- 
ing! 

The  while  we  lounge  here  on  the  grass, 
Invoke  for  us  a  hunter's  blessing, 

And  read  to  us  a  hunter's  mass. 
But  mind,  the  mass  must  not  be  tedious! 

No  huntsman  is  repentant  long; 
His  sins  are  very  soon  forgotten ; 

He  loves  the  chase,  good  cheer  and  song." 
The  willing  rover  answers:  "Fiat  !  " 

No  longer  timid  in  his  speech. 
"But  pardon!     Long  has  been  my  journey, 

And  I  must  drink  ere  I  can  preach." 
Then  at  a  single  draught  he  empties 

The  brimming  tankard's  foaming  store, 
And  nimbly  leaps  upon  a  boulder — 

Fit  pulpit  for  such  orator. 
Now  to  the  listening  congregation 

Delivers  he  a  sermon,  spiced 
With  bits  of  macaronic  Latin, 

Impromptu,  duly  emphasized: 


The  Wild  Huntsman  75 

' '  Salvete,  fratres  in  Sancto  Hubert o  ! 
Open  your  ears  now,  crcdite  experto  ! 
O,  ye  huntsmen  on  the  ground, 
As  I  the  Gospel's  truth  expound, 
Behold  in  me  an  apostolum 

Who  is  amid  you  heathen  sent, 
To  oust  the  malum  diabolnm; — 

The  hunting  devil  here  is  meant, — 
Who,  burr-like,  ever  to  you  clings, 

As  to  a  tree  the  parasite, 
And  to  each  soul  destruction  brings, 

Whence  peace  forever  takes  its  flight. 
I  come  here  timely  to  admonish, 
Ere  in  his  wrath  the  Lord  shall  punish. 
But  in  sooth  I  am  perplexed 
Where  to  find  a  fitting  text, 
Hence  must  I  ad  exercitium  nostrum 
Preach  according  to  my  rostrum. 
I  need  not  ask  you  what  your  credo, 
O,  miserere  !  potius  abscedo. 
You  believe  that  hare  and  deer 
Live  to  die  by  bow  and  spear; 
They  appear  upon  the  table 
As  the  wolf  did  in  the  fable. 
Cease  your  slaughter  and  offence! 
Make  an  honest  living  hence ! 
To  perdition  leads  each  vice, 
Such  as  swearing,  drink  and  dice. 
Et  dum  noseblosse  blohardum  trumpum, 


76  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Tollunt  laetissime  kannem  et  bumpum. 
Quartum  semper  excipit  gum  t  us 
Ad  infinitum  dnm  nihil  est  intus; 
Revile  and  vex  ecclesiam  scissam, 
And  never  come  ad  sanctam  missam — 
To  holy  church  make  no  concession, 
No  offering  and  no  confession. 
And  ye  ignore  the  convent's  claim 
To  share  in  every  kind  of  game ; 
Heads  of  boar  and  sides  of  deer 
We  'd  accept  with  thanks  sincere. 
Is  it  that  ye  doubt  and  question 
If  it  's  well  for  our  digestion? 
Sad  mistake !     Errare  humanum  ! 
Non  nocet  ecclessiae  do?ium  profanum. 
Huntsmen,  vulgo  venatores, 
Habent  amor es  plus  quam  mores. 
Toward  the  maids  ye  ill  behave, 
And  no  rosy  lips  are  safe; 
Libido,  favor  et  oscidum 
Ye  deem  all  a  fiosculum. 
Next  I  single  out  the  wrong 
Of  a  flippant,  reckless  tongue. 
Ye  with  hardened  conscience  glory 
In  the  biggest  hunting  story. 
With  one  shaft  ten  ducks  ye  scored, 
Tied  three  bears  with  single  cord ; 
Maids,  who  for  you  pine  and  linger, 
Ye  claim  one  for  every  finger. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  77 

And  again  ere  deep  ye  sink, 

Shun  the  diabolum  drink. 

If  there  's  urgent  thirst  to  quench 

Sit  not  singly  on  the  bench ; 

Seek  ye  one  with  whom  to  sip 

\\  ho  will  aid  good  fellowship, 

Take,  I  say,  a  spiritual  man 

To  ban  the  spirit  in  the  can. 

Hence,  if  there  comes  a  pious  pater, 

Or,  perchance,  a  younger  f rater, 

Or,  belike,  a  wandering  student, 

Good  treatment  is  but  just  and  prudent, 

And  with  such  a  pious  crew, 

An  extra  cup  no  harm  will  do; 

As  ye  befriend  the  Lord's  ordained, 

Reward  eternal  will  be  gained. 

The  service  must  not  be  too  long. 

Amen  !     We  '11  finish  with  a  song." 

But  ere  a  single  note  he  uttered, 

The  Count  spoke  out  with  hearty  will : 
"Now  should  'st  thou  have  an  intermission, 

And  from  this  tankard  drink  thy  fill. 
Thou  hast  berated  us  severely, 

But  I  will  graciously  forbear — 
'T  is  clear  to  me  thou  art  no  hunter, 

Yet  share  with  us  our  hunter's  fare. 
Thy  throat  must  sadly  need  a  moistening; 

Come,  Brother  Bunghole,  dine  thou  first, 
For  there  are  left  thee  ample  remnants, 


78  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  wine  to  quench  thy  boundless  thirst." 
There  was  no  need  of  further  urging 

One  never  known  the  cup  to  slight; 
He  drank  and  drank  and  stroked  his  belly, 

And  stowed  away  with  all  his  might. 
But  when  at  last  the  glutton  halted, 

Unused  to  this  abundant  fare, 
He  could  suppress  his  glee  no  longer. 

With  eyes  that  sparkled  sat  he  there, 
A  happy  and  contented  toper; 

And,  kindled  by  an  impulse  strong, 
He  raised  again  his  wine-filled  goblet, 

And  lustily  began  his  song: 

The  worst  I  know  of  earthly  strife 

Is  that  it  ends  too  soon  ; 
Had  I  a  thousand  years  of  life 

I  'd  call  the  cup  a  boon. 
Though  loud  the  cock  crew  in  the  morn, 

Fast  to  the  bench  F  d  cling  ; 
And  hence,  I  vow,  I'd  not  be  torn — 

But  drum,  and  thump,  and  sing  : 
Gling  !    Glang  I    Gloria  ! 
Potori  est  victoria  / 
Then  let  the  clinking  mugs  resound 
The  while  they  make  their  reeling  round  ! 

The  zvorld's  a  puzzling  place  to  me, 
In  truth  I  must  opine — 


The  Wild  Huntsman  79 

But  what  of  that,  since  I  am  free 
And  young  with  ancient  wine  ! 

The  comrade  true,  the  buxom  maid, 
The  fullest  bowl  I  '11  claim, — 

And  of  my  conscience  unafraid, 
Make  joyous  life  my  aim  : 
Gling  /    Glang  !   Gloria  ! 
Potori  est  victoria  ! 

Then  let  the  clinking  mugs  resound 

The  while  they  make  their  reeling  round  7 

The  very  last  sip  and  the  very  last  kiss 

May  bring  me  to  a  halt ; 
Till  then,  mcthinks,  't  is  not  amiss 

The  flagon  to  exalt. 
As  each  good  man  his  portion  sups, 

Let  'neath  the  welkin  ring 
The  rattling,  battling  din  of  cups, 

As  revelling  we  sing  : 

Gling  !    Glang !    Gloria  ! 
Potori  est  victoria  ! 
Then  let  the  clinking  mugs  resound 
The  while  they  make  their  reeling  round  t 

Then  he  arose  his  thanks  to  render, 
And  as  he  left  in  merry  mood, 

Strode  briskly  on  without  a  stumble 
Till  he  had  vanished  in  the  wood. 


80  The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  hours  have  sped,  and  now  the  hunters 

Bestride  their  saddled  steeds  again ; 
They  swiftly  ride  along  in  silence 

Through  shady  woodland,  brake  and  glen. 
Soon  they  espy  the  telltale  footprints 

That  serve  them  as  a  trusty  guide; 
Then  on  the  eager  huntsmen  gallop, 

Now  firmly  seated  for  the  ride. 
The  straining  hounds  are  freed  from  leashes, 

And  set  at  once  upon  the  track; 
They  scent  and  follow  quick  the  traces; 

Wild  through  the  thicket  sweeps  the  pack. 
Fast  after  them  the  riders  hasten, 

And  joyful  beats  the  hunter's  heart; 
Each  casts  about  to  sight  the  quarry, 

And  to  the  right  and  left  they  part. 
"Ho-ho!    ho-ho!      There!      There    he's    fly- 
ing!" 

The  archer  cries,  ' '  Give  chase !    Here !    Here ! 
Ahead  !     Ahead  !     On  !     On  !     Pursue  him  ! 

Hal-loo  !     Hal-loo  !     The  noble  deer  ! ' 
He  guides  them  with  his  sharp,  shrill  signals; 

Responses  come  from  far  and  near; 
The  sound  of  horns  and  hunters  cheering 

Throughout  the  wood  rings  in  the  ear, 
And  tempest-like  they  all  dash  forward 

Impetuous,  o'er  the  trackless  course; 
The  forest  lists,  the  air  is  trembling, 

Both  spur  and  thorn  goad  on  the  horse. 


The  Wild  Huntsman  81 

Proud  flies  the  deer,  a  forest  monarch, 

His  antlered  crown  he  stretches  back; 
Twigs  creak  and  snap,  and  branches  rustle 

As  foemen  crowd  upon  his  track. 
Here  bugles  call,  there  shouts  and  voices: 

"Hal-loo!    The  deer!    The  deer !"  resounds 
Amid  the  tramp  of  speeding  coursers 

And  ever  louder  bay  the  hounds. 
Into  the  wood  at  frantic  gallop, 

The  steeds  they  madly  onward  urge, 
Without  a  halt,  through  copse  and  thicket, 

Mid  shrubs  that  like  green  billows  surge. 
Now  vanishes  beneath  the  branches 

A  single  horseman  pressing  on ; 
Another  darts  o'er  bright  lit  meadows, 

His  weapon  glittering  in  the  sun. 
They  crash  through  sturdy  hazel  bushes, 

And  through  a  hedge  their  horses  tear; 
Their  colors  glint  and  their  locks  wave  wildly, 

Affrighted  scamper  doe  and  hare. 

Astride  of  a  spirited  chestnut  is  Albrecht ; 
Wulfhilde,  on  Redcheek,  soars  well  in  the 
lead; 
Ahead  of  them  all,  for  a  hazard  or  venture, 
Count    Hackelber'nd  fleets    on    his    furious 
steed. 
The    horses,    though   dripping,    continue    the 
struggle ; 


82  The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  baying  and  yelping  on  follows  each 
hound. 
Shy  flutter  the  birds;  the  tree  tops  all  quiver; 
The   flowers   and  grasses   bow    low   to   the 
ground. 
Hot  rages  the  race  across  gullies  and  boulders; 
Where  is  he?      Where   is   he?      The   deer? 
Ho-ho! 
A  hairbreadth  oft  saves  them  from  trees  in  their 
courses ; 
He  's    coming!      He  's    coming!      Hal-lo! 
Hal-lo! 
Their  cheeks  are  aglow  and  their  hearts  are 
fast  throbbing, 
Hal-lo!      Hal-lo!     Seek!     Seek!     Giff-gaff! 
Their  eyes  flashing  fire,  hot  faces  perspiring, 

Tra-ra!     Tra-ra!     Hift!     Hift!     Cliff-claff! 
The  forest  is  whirling,  trees  turning  and  danc- 
ing; 
Hu-hu!     Dock!     Dock!     Hal-lo  and  Ho-ho! 

With  a  rush  and  a  roar  they  fly  through  vast 
spaces ; 
Dock!     Dock!     Lu-lu-lo!     Dor-i-do !     Dor- 
i-do! 
And  ever  the  hart  fleeting  on  still  eludes  them 
With  branching  attire,  as  if  decked  with  a 
crown ; 
Now   uphill    and    downhill,    now  hither,   now 
thither 


The  Wild  Huntsman  83 

They  chase  him;  they  '11  follow  until  he  is 
down. 
The  din  now  is  nearing,  again  it  is  distant, 
With  horsemen  and  bugles  and  pack  in  full 
cry; 
Or  sunlight,  or  moonlight,  or  starlight  above 
them, 
They  see  not,  and  care  not,  but  wildly  rush 
by. 

No  halt,  no  rest,  no  spell  for  breathing; 

The  heated  rider  in  his  speed 
Takes  scarcely  time  to  ope  his  jerkin, 

And  flecked  with  foam  is  every  steed. 
But  with  the  sinking  sun  they  falter, 

As  slowly  wanes  their  measured  strength, 
And  with  their  panting  dogs  the  huntsmen, 

Outworn  and  lame,  turn  home  at  length. 
Wulfhilde  and  her  escort  Albrecht 

On  mettled  steeds  still  forward  press, 
Resolved  in  fealty  to  follow 

The  Count  within  the  wilderness. 
But  as  they  ride  through  gathering  shadows 

O'er  tangling  vines,  the  young  Knight  calls: 
"Beware  thee  lest  thy  Redcheek  stumble!  ' 

When  down  Wulfhilde's  palfrey  falls. 
The  horse  with  straining  muscles  rises, 

Regains  his  feet,  and  turns  in  flight ; 
While  Albrecht  hastes  to  raise  Wulfhilde, 


84  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Who  soon  recovers  from  her  fright. 
With  smiling  face  she  leans  upon  him, 

And  little  heeds  her  foot's  dull  pain. 
He  leads  her  to  his  empty  saddle 

And  with  his  aid  she  mounts  again. 
But  as  he  strides  along  beside  her, 

Wulfhilde  urges  him  to  ride: 
"  Dear  cousin,  if  thy  steed  but  paces 

He  '11  carry  thee  and  me  beside." 
Then  as  he  swings  himself  behind  her, 

And  firmly  of  the  reins  takes  hold, 
The  arms  of  Wulfhild' twine  around  him, 

His  face  is  kissed  by  strands  of  gold. 
She  feels  his  breath,  and  in  sweet  rapture 

Leans  softly  on  his  knightly  breast ; 
Her  bosom  heaves  and  she  abandons 

Herself  to  happiness  and  rest. 
The  way  is  long,  yet  both  in  silence 

Ride  slowly  toward  their  castle  home ; 
While  secret  thoughts  and  unshared  wishes 

Ascend  the  mystic  starlit  dome. 

The  Count  speeds  on  with  Wunsch  and  Wille, 

And  knows  not  that  he  is  alone, 
Or  that  the  thundering  din  of  horses 

Has  long  since  ceased  except  his  own. 
The  golden  sun  of  even  flashes, 

But  he  sees  not  the  world  ablaze ; 
He  feels  not  that  the  thorn  has  scratched  him, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  85 

Or  that  the  branches  beat  his  face. 
Dank  vapors  rise  and  darkness  gathers; 

The  night  o'er  all  its  mantle  throws; 
He  heeds  it  not,  while  hotly  hammers 

The  blood  that  through  his  temples  flows. 
The  glimmering  moon  ascends  the  heavens 

And  floats  above  a  silvery  fleece; 
The  Knight  beholds  it  not,  but  eager 

Upon  pursuit,  will  know  no  peace 
Until  he  takes  this  prize  before  him, — 

The  proudly  antlered,  royal  game, — 
For  this  he  soul  and  body  hazards, 

And  this  has  set  his  heart  aflame. 
He  presses  on  close  by  the  convent; 

The  chapel  windows,  arched  and  long, 
Are  brightly  lit,  and  through  the  stillness 

Float  cadences  of  sacred  song. 
Then  in  a  pause  between  responses 

The  Count  blows  from  his  bugle-horn 
Shrill  fanfares  toward  the  sanctuary 

To  flaunt  defiance  and  his  scorn. 
He  laughs  and  scoffs:  "Bald-pated  villains, 

Who  prate  of  punishment  in  Hell, 
Now  know  ye  how  Hans  Hackelberend 

Regards  the  limit  of  your  bell!" 
Once  more,  unpitying,  he  presses 

His  spur  into  the  stallion's  side, 
Once  more  into  the  forest  charges, 

Without  a  sign  or  light  to  guide; 


86  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  Wille  howls  along  in  fury, 

As  on  their  desperate  way  they  go ; 
And  while  the  Count  cries  "On  !  "  and  urges : 

"Wunsch!   Wille!    Seek!    Hal-lo !    Hal-lo!" 
Like  tempest  roars  and  onward  rushes 

The   maddening   chase   through   wood   and 
brake, 
As  if  the  rocks  had  burst  asunder 

And  thunder  followed  in  their  wake. 
When  suddenly  the  steed,  affrighted, 

Cuts  short  the  reckless,  frantic  ride. 
He  rears  and  plunges,  backward  bracing, 

Refusing  to  advance  a  stride; 
He  snorts  and  stamps,  his  body  trembling, 

Then  crouching  low,  he  will  not  move; 
His  eyes  protrude;  his  nostrils  quiver, 

And  spur  and  urging  useless  prove. 
The  Count  dismounts,  and  Wille  cowers, 

His  fearless  courage  all  forgot; 
Both  he  and  Wunsch,  as  if  by  magic, 

Seem  fixed  to  this  mysterious  spot. 
Adown  the  slope  rise  forest  giants, 

And  boulders  huge  and  mossy  hang; 
Beyond,  spreads  out  a  boggy  meadow 

Where  ne'er  a  peasant's  sickle  rang. 
There !     There  it  comes !     A  swelling  crescent, 

Through  moonlight  and  the  mists  of  eve ! 
Has  't  flesh  and  blood,  this  surging  current? 

Or  can  the  mind  such  phantoms  weave? 


The  Wild  Huntsman  87 

It  lives  and  stirs  with  ghostly  motion, 

Like  human  bodies,  rows  of  dead 
From  grave  arisen,  horror-shapen ! — 

The  Count   stands   dazed    and    numb   with 
dread. 
Then  cold  the  sweat  starts  on  his  forehead ; 

He  cannot  flee  nor  move  a  limb; 
The  weight  of  mountains  is  upon  him, 

While  they  draw  near  and  nearer  him. 
His  heart  at  last  regains  its  valor; 

He  gazes  at  the  spectral  train; 
"The  Woden  Host!  "  he  faintly  mutters, 

And  leans  on  Wunsch  support  to  gain. 

With  staff  in  hand  old  faithful  Warner 

Benignly,  gravely  leads  the  van, 
Who  has  full  knowledge  of  the  future 

And  knows  each  secret  wish  of  man. 
He  slowly  nods  his  head,  and  sadly 

Upon  the  Count  directs  his  eye; 
And  with  a  solemn  incantation 

He  points  his  staff  up  toward  the  sky. 
Next  comes  in  majesty  and  grandeur 

A  Form  upon  a  noble  steed; 
He  follows  close  behind  the  leader, 

And  to  the  Knight  pays  little  heed ; 
While  round  and  round  about  his  charger 

The  two  gray  wolves  trot,  lean  and  grim, 
And  o'er  his  head  the  pair  of  ravens 


88  The  Wild  Huntsman 

Again  in  flight  encircle  him ; 
Beside  him  rides  his  godlike  consort, 

Who  in  her  hand  the  distaff  holds ; 
Along  the  palfrey's  side  float  trailing 

Her  garment's  snowy,  glistening  folds. 
Then  follow  men  of  giant  stature 

In  skins  of  bison  and  of  bear, 
With  heads  of  horned  wild  beasts  for  helmets, 

'Neath  which  rough-bearded  faces  stare. 
Next  mounted  huntsmen  come  in  squadrons, 

And  hordes  with  arms  of  ancient  mould ; 
But  in  their  veins  no  life-blood  courses, 

Nor  breathe  they.     All  are  stark  and  cold. 
And  in  the  long,  extended  column 

That  stretches  out  across  the  dale, 
Are  lovely  women  high  on  horses, 

Whose  beauty  naught  but  night  mists  veil. 
They  gently  nod  and  beckon  sadly 

With  long  and  white  and  languid  hands; 
And  with  a  face  as  pale  and  dreary 

The  moon  peers  o'er  the  spectral  bands. 
Thus  floats  along  the  weird  procession : 

From    hoof,    from    sword,    from    shield    no 
sound ; 
All  mute  and  silent ;  songless,  toneless — 

A  nether  world  above  the  ground. 
The  mist  that  shrouds  the  ghostly  faces 

Dissolves,  and  rends  the  filmy  veil; 
Like  fluttering  locks  or  mantles  swaying, 


The  Wild  Huntsman  89 

Its  shimmering  skirts,  low  surging,  trail. 
Distinctly  now  appear  the  figures 

As  through  a  cloud-rift  in  a  dream ; 
Now,  as  in  gauzes  thin  enfolded, 

Uncertain,  dim  and  vague  they  seem. 
And  slowly  passing  through  the  woodland 

This  pageant  from  the  shades  of  death, 
From  darkness  comes,  to  darkness  gathers, 

And  fades  away  like  mortal  breath. 

The  Count  stands  dazed  as  he  were  blinded, 

Yet  long  has  passed  the  dismal  train ; 
He  does  not  mount,  but  homeward  turning, 

Leads  on  the  stallion  by  the  rein. 
The  soul  that  never  bent  or  yielded 

Is  now  the  prey  of  nameless  dread ; 
The  demon  fear  his  throat  is  clutching, 

Wild  terror  crouches  o'er  his  head. 
For  he  has  seen  great  Woden  muster 

His  levies  from  the  spirit  land; 
To  him  the  midnight  horde  has  beckoned : 

His  day  of  death  is  near  at  hand. 
The  Judge  on  High  has  sent  His  warning, — 

The  Lord  at  whom  he  oft  has  jeered ; — 
Now,  but  to  pray  for  one  short  moment, 

And,  ere  he  dies,  of  sin  be  cleared ! 
Ah,  look!     Beneath  yon  branching  linden, 

Hierh  on  the  rock-strewn  mountain  side, 
Stands  out  distinctly  in  the  moonlight, 


90  The  Wild  Huntsman 

A  cross  that  bears  the  Crucified. 
The  carven  image  of  the  Savior, 

With  arms  and  hands  extended  wide, 
There  offers  him  eternal  mercy, 

And  he  surrenders  all  his  pride. 
And  here,  alone  with  Wunsch  and  Will6, 

Who  in  his  many  sins  had  shared, 
It  seemed  within  the  forest  stillness 

An  inner  voice  to  him  declared : 
"Before  the  sorrowing  Redeemer, 

Who,  sinless,  suffering  for  us  died, 
Bow  down  thy  heart,  and  clear  thy  conscience, 

And  mercy  will  not  be  denied." 
Then  to  the  cross  without  a  witness, 

With  head  uncovered,  staggers  he; 
His  soul  repentant  craves  salvation, 

And  he  will  bend  his  stubborn  knee. 
But,  hark!     Afar  he  hears  the  tolling, 

Now  full  and  deep,  of  convent  bells. 
"What !  "  cries  he,  "You  !     You  mean  to  force 
me 

To  penance,  as  your  letter  tells? 
No !     No  !     I  will  not  kneel  before  thee, 

Thou  make-believe  of  wood  and  paint! 
Thou  fellow  of  yon  spectral  vision! 

With  ghosts  of  eld  goes  mythic  saint, 
And  though  the  millions  come  to  worship, 

I,  all  alone,  oppose  thee  here; 
Yea !     Challenge  thee  to  mortal  combat, 


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The  Wild  Huntsman  93 

For  of  thy  strength  I  have  no  fear! 
'T  is  said  that  shooting  at  thy  image 

The  archer's  bow  and  arrow  charms, 
And,  lest  a  deer  again  escape  me, 

My  mark  be  thou,  with  outstretched  arms! 
This  very  day  of  Corpus  Christi 

I  '11  prove  to  thee  my  long  felt  scorn, 
And  thy  descent  from  cross  I  '11  hasten 

With  my  good  shaft,  thou  mortal  born!  ' 
He  quickly  grasps  and  bends  his  crossbow 

To  do  the  deed  thus  rashly  planned, 
But  Wunsch  rubs  gently  'gainst  his  shoulder, 

And  Wille  warmly  licks  his  hand. 
' '  Ah !     Would  ye  faithful  friends  thus  warn  me  ? 

Or  are  ye  with  them  in  a  league? " 
He  pats  the  horse  and  fondles  Wille — 

"No!     No!     Ye  are  above  intrigue!  ' 
And  in  the  moonlight  there  beside  them, 

He  lifts  his  voice:  "Christ  Jesus,  tell 
If  through  thy  death  and  guiltless  suffering 

Thou  savest  man  from  lasting  Hell? 
Is  there,  forsooth,  a  life  hereafter — 

A  Heaven  of  eternal  bliss? 
Or,  taught  by  falsehood  and  invention, 

Are  hope  and  fear  alike  amiss? 
O,  give  a  token  !     Beckon  to  me ! 

Wilt  pardon  grant  if  I  repent? 
Withhold  not!     Save  me,  now  or  never! 

I  am  upon  thy  answer  bent !  " 


94  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  while  he  lists,  on  dying  breezes, 

That  play  about  his  fevered  brow, 
There  floats  a  bell's  slow,  mournful  cadence- 

'The  monk's  reply!     O,  cursed  be  thou, 
With  whom  hypocrisy  and  priestcraft 

Go  hand  in  hand  throughout  the  world ! 
Thou  idol !     Scarecrow  !     By  my  arrow 

Be  thou  from  thy  high  station  hurled !  ' 
He  snatches  from  his  back  the  weapon ; 

Puts  on  a  shaft  and  bends  the  bow; 
That  instant,  by  his  voice  affrighted, 

Before  his  eyes  there  runs  a  doe. 
He  sees  it  not,  but  hears  the  bell  toll; 

Unswerving  he  takes  steady  aim — 
The  shaft  strikes  sharp  and  shrill  the  timber. 

And  shivers  through  the  Savior's  frame. 
The  Count  his  bosom  clutches  quickly; 

He  feels  a  sudden,  stinging  pain; 
A  moment  full  of  mortal  anguish — 

The  convent  bell  is  mute  again. 

A  storm  roars  from  the  mountain  summits, 

And  deafening  thunder  claps  resound — 
His  body  shattered  into  pieces 

The  Son  of  God  lies  on  the  ground. 
The  Count  no  longer  thinks  of  dying, 

The  gain  of  Heaven,  or  its  loss; 
Firm  in  the  stirrup  turns  he  homeward 

And  leaves  his  arrow  in  the  cross. 


VI 


The  Next  Shot 


IN  the  morn  the  castle  servants 
Were,  as  wont,  within  the  gate  tower 
For  their  early  draught  assembled. 
One  and  all,  the  hunters,  wardens, 
Dame  Agnete  and  the  women 
Sat  around  the  oaken  table. 
But  instead  of  chat  and  banter 
That  lent  cheer  to  all  their  gatherings, 
Now  a  doleful  silence  brooded, 
For  their  thoughts  dwelt  on  the  stag  hunt, 
And  its  fruitless,  unknown  ending. 
Dame  Agnete  first  gave  vent  to 
Her  ill  humor:  "  'T  is  no  wonder 
That  the  two  and  twenty  antlers 
Yesterday  slipped  through  your  fingers; 
Badly  lamed  and  jaded  horses 
Is  what  comes  of  sinful  hunting 
On  the  holy  Corpus  Christi! 
Elsbeth,  tell  me,"  she  continued, 
"How  's  the  foot  of  thy  young  mistress?" 

95 


96  The  Wild  Huntsman 

"Oh,  the  foot  is  least!     I  'm  certain 
She  has  lain  the  whole  night  sleepless, 
For  her  eyes  are  red  with  weeping, 
And  she  looks  so  wan  and  wretched." 
'There!  "  exclaimed  the  Dame  Agnete, 
"Said  I  not  I  heard  her  sobbing, 
As  I  passed  along  the  hallway?  " 
'  Fie !     Thou  ever  listening  gossip  ! 
Woman,  mend  thy  ways!  "  chid  Gerhard. 
"One  thing  I  would  fain  unriddle," 
Quoth  the  groom;  "what  evil  fortune 
Has  upon  our  master  fallen? 
Wunsch  and  Will6  mope  and  shiver; 
'T  is  as  if  the  Blocksberg  witches 
Had  flown  over  them  at  midnight." 
"In  the  early  morn,"  said  Telie, 
As  I  stepped  into  his  chamber, 
In  his  restless  sleep  he  muttered: 
"Wode!     Wode!     There  I  see  them — 
There  they  vanish  in  the  distance !  ' 
"Said  he  that?     Then  God  have  mercy! ' 
Cried  out  Gerhard  sore  affrighted. 
"He  's  the  Woden  Host  encountered 
After  midnight  in  the  forest. 
He  whose  mortal  eyes  behold  it 
Has  the  powers  above  offended." 
"But  the  Host  moves  after  Yule  Tide, 
Ere  the  Twelfth  Night,  and  no  later! ' 
Ludolf  argued.     "All  the  greater 


The  Wild  Huntsman  97 

Is  the  cause  for  fear!  "  cried  Gerhard. 
"Did  ye  lasses  cease  your  spinning? ' 
Asked  Agnete.     "Be  ye  cautioned  ! 
If  at  night  the  Wode  passes, 
All  that  turns  must  stop  directly, 
Be  it  spindle,  cart,  or  mill  wheel." 
"Were  the  doors  shut  tightly,  Wenzel?  " 
Anxiously  inquired  the  falconer. 
"Where  in  line  three  doors  stand  open, 
There  he  has  unhindered  passage, 
And  throughout  the  year  then  follow 
Only  evil,  strife,  and  sickness." 
"Cite  the  devil,  quick  ye  '11  have  him," 
Warned  Agnete;  "things  are  going 
To  the  bad  o'er  all  the  country; 
Ask  friend  Wenzel  if  they  be  not !  ' 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "while  ye  were  hunting, 
Trude's  lover  from  the  smeltery 
Came  and  told  us  of  the  peasants, 
Who  in  mighty  hordes  are  coming 
To  lay  waste,  and  burn  and  murder. 
They  are  called  The  Needy  Cotirad, 
And  the  League  Shoe  is  the  emblem 
That  they  carry  on  their  banners. 
Thomas  Muenzer  is  their  leader, 
He  of  Stolberg,  in  our  mountains: 
Boldly  they  demand  that  ground  rent, 
Interest,  taxes,  tithes,  and  tenure 
At  one  stroke  be  all  abolished; 


98  The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  they  ask  a  fair  partition, 

Both  of  timber  lands  and  pastures. 

If  the  barons  in  their  castles 

Slight  these  many  claims  for  justice  — 

If  they  scorn  The  Needy  Conrad, 

They  will  surely  rue  their  folly. 

When  the  Leaguers  once  have  triumphed, 

They  will  rouse  old  Barbarossa, 

Sitting  in  Kyffhauser  Castle, 

With  his  beard  grown  through  the  table, 

That  he  may  restore  their  freedom 

With  a  charter  for  their  warrant. 

Far  and  wide  extends  the  rising, 

Spreading  over  all  the  Empire; 

In  Franconia  and  Alsatia, 

Switzerland  and  on  the  Danube, 

In  Thuringia  and  the  Brisgau 

Unrestrained  the  rebels  riot." 

"Evil  tidings!  "  grumbled  Gerhard. 

"See  to  armor,  walls  and  weapons, 

That  we  may  defeat  and  hurl  them 

Bleeding  from  the  castle  ramparts, 

When  they  come  for  contribution !  ' 

Heeding  Gerhard's  timely  warning, 

After  their  repast  the  huntsmen 

Gathered  all  their  trusty  weapons, 

Looked  to  coats  of  mail  and  bucklers, 

Sharpened  spears  and  rusty  halberds, 

Split  and  shaped  hard  wood  for  arrows ; 


The  Wild  Huntsman  99 

While  Agnete  weighed  and  counted 
All  the  stores  within  the  cellars, 
So  they  'd  lack  not  for  subsistence 
If  the  castle  were  invested. 
Thus  its  liegemen  all  made  ready 
To  avert  the  threatened  danger. 

Sitting  desolate  in  her  chamber, 
With  one  hand  her  cheek  supporting, 
Gazed  Wulfhilde  down  the  valley, 
Where  the  gleaming  Bode  rippled, 
Gently  here,  and  there  in  ferment 
Foaming  over  polished  pebbles. 
Near,  a  pair  of  wagtails  flitted, 
Darting  after  dancing  midges 
For  their  second  brood  of  nestlings. 
But  the  tear-wet  eyes  of  Wulfhild' 
Heeded  not  what  lay  before  them. 
Often  rose  her  sighing  bosom, 
While  in  low  and  broken  accents 
Fell  from  lips  that  sadly  quivered: 
"  O  that  thou  mightst  cease  thy  beating, 
Heart  forlorn,  with  anguish  stricken! 
Blissful  dreams  have  long  beguiled  thee; 
All  have  vanished,  flown  forever. 
Thou  canst  nevermore  possess  him ; 
For  he  loves  thee  not,  and  hopeless 
Is  thy  fond  desire ;  thy  dreams  were 
Vain  and  empty ;  thee  he  loves  not. 


ioo         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Yestereve,  when  riding  homeward, 
I  embraced  him — O,  the  rapture ! 
'T  was  but  once,  one  sacred  moment! 
Nevermore!     O,  full  and  burning 
Beat  my  heart  upon  his  bosom. 
But  his  own  he  locked  within  him, 
And  my  love  was  not  admitted. 
Even  with  my  arms  about  him 
Still  he  seemed  a  senseless  statue, — 
Cold  as  dew  his  look  and  word  were. 
Scorned  my  love  is  and  rejected. 
What!  rejected?     Never!     Never 
Will  I  bear  the  slight!     No  knight  shall 
Ever  vaunt  of  this;  nay,  rather 
Let  my  poor  heart  break — but  never, 
Never  must  he  know !     Away,  tears ! 
Smile,  ye  eyes!     And  thou — be  silent! ' 

Albrecht,  too,  was  in  his  chamber, 

But  his  face  was  lit  with  gladness. 

On  the  table  near  the  casement 

Stood  a  basket  with  two  pigeons; 

Almost  tenderly  he  watched  them 

While  they,  cooing,  pecked  the  kernels 

That  he  freely  strewed  around  them. 

Then  indited  he  this  letter: 

"Heather  Rose,  my  own  dear  sweetheart, 

Both  the  pigeons,  swiftly  flying, 

With  thy  precious  written  message 


The  Wild  Huntsman         101 

Safely  reached  this  moated  castle. 

One  to-night  shall  bear  my  letter 

Back  to  her  whose  love  has  blessed  me. 

Look  forth,  thou  !     Await  its  coming, 

As  of  old  did  Father  Noah, 

From  the  ark,  upon  the  mountain. 

And  may  love's  own  goddess  save  it 

From  the  kite's  and  hawk's  sharp  talons! 

Heather  Rose,  thou  think'st  thy  lover 

Is  at  Treseburg  held  captive 

By  the  eyes  of  his  fair  cousin. 

Have  no  fear!     For  now,  as  ever, 

I  am  thine, — thy  steadfast  lover. 

And  when  in  the  bright-hued  forest 

Leaves  begin  to  fall  in  autumn, 

Then  for  home  my  horse  I  '11  saddle, 

Swiftly  hie  to  thee  and  linger 

Through  long  days  of  joy  unmeasured; 

And  thy  dewy  lips,  rose-petalled, 

Will  with  kisses  bid  me  welcome. 

Fare  thee  well,  my  Heather  Rosebud, 

May  God's  angels  safely  shield  thee, 

And  their  wings  ward  off  all  evil !  ' 

Then  with  silken  cord  securely 

Fastened  he  the  folded  missive 

'Neath  the  pinion  of  the  pigeon, 

Let  it  fly  through  open  casement, 

Watching  it  afar  and  saying : 

"Bear  love's  message  to  my  sweetheart!' 


102         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  the  Count?     Did  he  not  stagger 

'Neath  his  load  of  sin  tremendous? 

Did  the  solid  ground  sustain  him 

In  his  sacrilege  so  monstrous? 

Night  still  brooded  o'er  the  mountains 

When  he  reached  the  glooming  castle, 

Threw  himself  upon  his  pillow, 

And,  exhausted,  sank  in  slumber, 

That  deep-wrapped  his  restless  spirit. 

In  the  morning,  slowly  rousing, 

He  recalled  his  wild  adventure 

As  a  vague,  half-dreamt  illusion, 

Until  wakening  memory  startled, 

And  the  truth  dawned  full  upon  him. 

Penitent?     No!     Not  an  instant ! 

For  the  wickedness  committed 

Failed  to  rouse  or  prick  his  conscience; 

What  were  lawless  deeds  but  noble 

In  a  man  of  dauntless  mettle, 

Who  naught  hopes, and  whom  naught  frightens? 

In  the  broad,  clear  light  of  morning 

Vanished  too  the  dread  of  phantoms; 

And  the  only  grief  that  vexed  him 

Was  his  failure  in  the  stag  hunt. 

"Ere  the  night  I  '11  test  the  saying — 

Know  if  my  right  arm  be  palsied, 

And  my  bow  and  shaft  enchanted 

By  the  piercing  of  the  image." 

Thinking  thus,  he  took  his  weapons, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         103 

Ordered  Bruno  not  to  follow, 
As  had  been  the  archer's  custom, 
And  to  Wille  did  not  whistle. 
All  alone  he  sought  the  forest, 
Roving  through  its  endless  mazes, 
While  he  marvelled  at  the  absence 
Of  all  game.     At  last,  he  sighted 
Up  beneath  the  clouds  an  eagle, 
Far  beyond  the  flight  of  arrow, 
And  it  seemed  to  him  an  omen 
That  the  keen-eyed,  royal  robber 
Flew  above  him  in  wide  circles. 
"Draw'st  thou  o'er  my  head  a  halo?' 
Thus  he  jeeringly  salutes  him, 
"'T  is  a  span  too  near  to  Heaven! 
Or  know'st  thou  that  I  am  given 
High  to  bear  my  head,  cloud-breaster? ' 

Silence  reigned  throughout  the  forest, 
Broken  only  when  there  echoed 
Song  of  finch  and  pigeon's  cooing, 
Yellow  thrush's  flutelike  piping, 
And  the  pecker's  tapping  hammer. 
Sap-filled  leaves,  unstirred  by  breezes, 
Hung  on  twigs  as  if  they  floated ; 
Gleaming  lights  beside  dark  shadows 
Played  amid  the  varied  foliage ; 
Oak  trees,  vast  and  venerable, 
Spread  their  huge  arms  in  protection 


104         The  Wild  Huntsman 

O'er  their  small  and  weaker  brethren. 
Broom,  wild  cherry,  golden  furzes 
In  luxuriance  bloomed  beneath  them; 
And  around,  bright  flowers  clustered : 
Briar  roses,  silver  thistles, 
Monarch's  torch  and  stalky  foxgloves; 
Tiny,  tender  bluebells  nodded; 
Graceful  ferns  with  arching  plumage 
Rose  above  rank  weeds  and  grasses. 
As  in  sunlit  air,  the  branches 
Close  entwined  and  intermingled, 
So  the  roots,  too,  clung  together, 
Grasping  hands  beneath  the  surface, 
Clasped  and  interlocked  like  fingers. 
If  one  chanced  to  be  uprooted, 
Others  often  languished  with  it, — 
All  like  pleasant  friends  in  common 
Of  the  sun  and  earth  partaking. 
Through  this  solitude  of  nature, 
Fair,  reposeful,  peace-enwreathed, 
Stole  the  peaceless  Hackelberend.    . 
He  felt  not  the  sting  of  conscience — 
It  was  deadened,  deaf  and  silent — 
Yet  he  knew  no  sweet  contentment 
In  the  wealth  of  flowering  verdure 
Or  the  symphony  of  bird-song. 
Earth  to  him,  with  all  its  beauty, 
Was  one  vast  preserve  for  hunting. 
'T  was  not  love  of  gain  or  slaughter, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         105 

But  an  eager,  curbless  passion 

That  relentlessly  possessed  him, 

Raging  through  his  veins  incessant, 

Like  a  steady,  burning  fever, 

Goading  him  and  spurring  onward, 

As  if  haunting  spirits  drove  him; — 

Turning  all  his  wants  and  wishes, 

All  his  thoughts,  his  dreams  and  musings, 

Toward  the  chase  and  toward  the  forest. 

Hours  together  through  the  woodland, 
Listening,  watching,  roves  the  Huntsman, 
Daunted  not  by  many  failures: 
And  at  last — in  yonder  coppice 
Something  moves — again — draws  nearer — 
It  is  far — the  game  is  hidden, 
But  a  charm  is  on  the  arrow ! 
Sharply  twangs  the  quivering  bowstring! — 
Sharp  the  cry  of  pain  that  answers ! 
No  dumb  brute  has  tone  so  plaintive; 
That  was  human !     Through  the  thicket 
Hastes  the  Count,  and  there  finds  Waldtraut 
Swooning,  bleeding,  'midst  the  bushes, 
That  with  gentle  arms  enfold  her. 
Pale  with  fear  stands  he,  the  fearless ! 
"Ha!     Art  fooled!     The  devil  fooled  thee! 
With  the  shot  that  broke  the  image 
Hell  has  cheated  and  deceived  thee! ' 
Naught  for  life  cares  Hackelberend; 


106         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Two  alone  are  precious  to  him, 

Now  of  these  one  lies  in  peril. 

Tremblingly  he  bears  the  maiden 

To  the  brook's  cool-flowing  waters; 

Tenderly  he  kneels  beside  her, 

And  in  deep-moved  joy  discovers 

That  the  shaft  but  touched  her  shoulder! 

Soft  he  bathes  the  wound,  and  binds  it, 

While  with  gentle  words  he  soothes  her, 

As  her  wondering  eyes  reopen ; — 

Presses  her  with  kindly  urgence 

To  come  with  him  to  the  castle, 

Where  Wulfhilde,  like  a  sister, 

Will  watch  over  and  attend  her. 

Half-alarmed,  the  maid  refuses, 

Pleading  that  her  father,  searching, 

Would  not  rest  until  he  found  her. 

But  the  Count,  in  kind  rejoinder, 

Soon  allays  her  lingering  scruples 

By  the  promise  of  a  message 

To  the  collier  in  the  forest. 

Now  his  eyes,  so  dark  and  burning, 

Seem  to  beam  on  her  benignly, 

And  his  ever-dreaded  presence 

Loses  all  its  terror  for  her. 

Wondrous  is  the  strange  emotion 

That  sweeps  o'er  her  as  she  gazes 

At  the  gloomy  man  beside  her. 

She  no  longer  stems  resistant 


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The  Wild  Huntsman         109 

This  mysterious  drift  of  feeling; 

And — there  's  Ludolf  at  the  castle! 

So  she  yields  and  leans  adrooping 

On  the  strong  arm  that  supports  her. 

Much  its  wonted  inmates  marvelled 

As  the  two  approached  the  stronghold. 

Who  had  ever  seen  a  flower 

On  that  close-drawn  leather  jerkin? 

Now,  behold — the  Count  and  Waldtraut ! 

Kindly  is  the  maiden's  welcome — 

Known  to  all  and  greatly  cherished 

Is  this  unspoiled  child  of  nature. 

Sweet  Wulfhilde  speeds  to  nurse  her, 

And  Agnete,  skilled  in  healing, 

Hurries  for  her  precious  unguents; 

While  her  lover's  greetings  mingle 

With  his  anger,  half-forgiving, 

Toward  the  grim  and  rueful  Huntsman, 

Whose  fell  shot  had  brought  her  to  him. 

Straight  the  Count  despatches  Ludolf 

With  a  message  to  the  collier, 

And  thereafter  seeks  seclusion 

In  his  lonely  tower-chamber. 

Sunset  tinged  the  west  as  Ludolf 
Turned  into  the  well-worn  pathway 
From  the  castle  to  the  coal-kiln, 
So  oft  travelled  lightly  by  him 
When  he  sought  his  forest  sweetheart ; 


no         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  he  thought  of  Aulke's  sayings 
When  she  had  revealed  his  future. 
Was  his  loved  one's  wound,  he  wondered, 
But  the  prelude  or  beginning 
Of  that  prophecy's  fulfilment, 
With  the  worst  fate  still  before  him? 
For  old  Aulke  spoke  of  quarrels, 
Conflagration,  smoke  and  slaughter. 
Anxious,  filled  with  dark  misgivings, 
Strode  he  through  the  noiseless  forest. 
Suddenly  from  out  the  thicket 
Collier  Volrat  leaped  before  him 
With  a  long  and  heavy  cudgel; 
Wrath  made  terrible  his  features, 
And  he  seemed  as  huge  and  frightful 
As  the  Wild  Man  from  the  Hartz  wood. 
"Villain!     Now  I  have  thee!  "  cried  he. 
"Tell  me,  if  thy  life  thou  valuest, 
Where  hast  thou  my  daughter  hidden? " 
Ludolf,  first  a  step  retreating 
From  the  madman,  calmly  answered: 
"I  was  on  my  way  to  tell  thee 
What  at  noon  befell  the  maiden ; 
Now  my  lips  are  sealed  with  silence 
Till  thou  bear'st  thyself  more  gently; 
Then  shalt  thou  know  fully  of  her." 
"Darest  thou  defy  me,  fellow?  " 
Volrat  snorted,  "I  '11  soon  teach  thee!  ' 
As  he  raised  his  club  to  strike  him, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         1 1 1 

Ludolf  drew  his  gleaming  weapon, 

But  the  collier  with  his  cudgel 

Struck  it  from  his  hand  adroitly, 

Seized  and  shook  him  by  the  collar: 

"Villain,  say!     Where  is  my  daughter?  * 

"Not  for  thy  sake  will  I  tell  thee," 

Shouted  Ludolf,  gaining  freedom, 

"But  because  thou  art  the  father 

Of  the  maid  I  love  in  honor. 

Volrat,  thou  dost  charge  me  wrongly ; 

At  the  Treseburg  is  Waldtraut." 

"Liar,  thou  !     And  worthless  rascal!  " 

Roared  the  collier  roused  to  fury. 

"Were  I  told  she  'd  climbed  in  safety 

To  great  Woden's  Mark,  I  'd  sooner 

Think  it  true,  than  that  my  daughter 

Had  set  foot  within  the  castle, 

An  no  robber  dragged  her  to  it." 

"  'T  was  the  Count  himself  who  brought  her; 

He  by  sad  mischance,  while  hunting, 

Shot  and  grazed  her  on  the  shoulder. 

Now  his  daughter  waits  upon  her, 

And  will  soon  restore  her  to  thee." 

"Lies  again !  "  loud  scoffed  the  savage, 

"Wounded!     By  the  Count !    Thou 'rt  raving! 

He  hits  surer,  game  or  women  ! 

Ho,  ye  fellows!     Come!    I  need  ye!  ' 

And  he  beckoned  two  stout  woodmen, 

Who  'd  been  felling  trees  for  burning, 


ii2         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And,  attracted  by  the  clamor, 
Had  been  listening  to  the  quarrel. 
"That  's  the  rascal  stole  my  daughter! '; 
Volrat  cried,  "and  he  refuses 
To  disclose  her  place  of  hiding. 
Take  your  withes,  and  we  will  tie  him 
'Twixt  that  pair  of  oaken  saplings! 
With  their  help  his  tongue  may  loosen !  ' 
In  the  brief  unequal  struggle 
Ludolf  soon  was  overpowered, 
And  his  bonds  securely  fastened. 
"Wilt  thou  tell  before  we  leave  thee?" 
Asked  again  the  irate  collier. 
Down  the  hunter's  cheeks  in  anger 
Rolled  hot  tears,  but  still  he  spoke  not. 
"Think  upon  it  till  the  morrow, 
If  the  bears  and  wolves  at  nightfall 
Save  thee  not  from  further  answer! ' 
Volrat  snarled  as  he  departed, 
Followed  by  the  stolid  woodmen. 

As  if  crucified  hung  Ludolf, 
Helpless,  lone,  and  at  the  mercy 
Of  all  nightly  prowling  creatures; 
Low  he  said  a  Pater  Noster, 
Quietly  his  doom  awaiting. 
Darkness  fast  succeeds  dim  twilight 
With  its  phantom  brood  of  shadows, 
When  he  hears  a  sudden  rustling 


The  Wild  Huntsman         113 

In  the  underbrush  behind  him, 

And  his  limbs  begin  to  tremble 

As  with  straining  ears  he  catches 

Sounds  of  breathless  panting,  scenting, 

And  a  stealthy  pit-a-patter, 

Coming  nearer,  ever  nearer — 

"Ah,  the  wolves!     Be  quick,  old  fellows!  ' 

Thus  he  mutters,  "None  of  your  kind 

Have  I  needlessly  tormented!  " — 

When  before  his  eyes'  dread  survey 

Hobbles  Volrat's  aged  mother. 

"Still!     Be  still!  "  the  woman  whispers, 

"For  I  came  to  help,  young  hunter; 

I  looked  on  from  yonder  thicket, 

But  I  had  no  power  to  aid  thee. 

Here  's  my  sickle!     It  will  free  thee! 

Lord  o'  mercy!     All  is  useless; 

Up  beyond  my  reach  they  've  tied  thee!  ' 

' '  Do  but  leap,  or  stand  on  tiptoe  ! ' 

Ludolf  urged  in  his  impatience; 

But  old  Aulke  stood  there  silent, 

Shaking  her  gray  locks  in  sorrow. 

"'T  is  in  vain,  I  cannot  reach  it!  ' 

"With  a  pull,  belike,"  said  Ludolf, 

"I  may  slightly  bend  the  saplings." 

"But  the  least  bit  more,"  urged  Aulke, 

"Draw  them  down  a  finch-step  lower! 

There,  *t  is  done!     And  now  the  other! ' 

"Quick!     Give  me  thy  sickle,  mother!  ' 


ii4         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  he  cut  the  withes  asunder. 
Freed  again,  his  strained  arms  aching, 
Ludolf  flung  them  round  old  Aulke, 
And  in  gratitude  he  kissed  her; 
Then  she  vanished  in  the  bushes. 


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VII 


The  Abbot  of  Walkenrieden 


TWO  stout  monks  of  Walkenrieden 
In  the  sultry  heat  of  noontide 
Strode  along  the  forest  pathway, 
Briskly  plying  alder  branches 
To  ward  off  the  stinging  midges 
And  to  cool  their  glowing  faces. 
By  the  side  of  each  good  brother 
Hung  a  basket  rudely  braided 
Of  the  slender  twigs  of  willow; 
And  within  these,  packed  in  nettle, 
Many-jointed  crayfish  crackled, 
As  their  bony  armor  grated. 
Valiantly  these  godly  fishers, 
Wading  slowly  up  the  Wieda, 
Had  at  length  with  booty  laden 
Turned  them  homeward  to  the  convent. 
Now  they  eagerly  debated 
How  to  cook  their  toothsome  prizes. 
One  held  they  should  slowly  simmer, 
"5 


n6         The  Wild  Huntsman 

While  the  other  counselled  boiling; 
Each  then  counted  on  his  fingers 
All  the  pros  and  cons,  but  neither 
Changed  the  other's  firm  opinion, 
Though  they  both  agreed  that  sauces 
Gave  the  dish  its  needful  savor. 
Then  they  trudged  along  together 
For  a  while  in  perfect  silence, 
Broken  soon  by  Jeremias 
In  a  doleful  tone  lamenting: 
"Long  our  carp  bell  has  been  silent; 
Trout  I  've  had  now  to  a  surfeit." 
"Verily,"  laughed  out  Jesaias, 
"But  for  eels  and  parsley  garnish, 
Seasoned  with  wild  sage  and  pepper, 
We  'd  be  sorely  tried  to  bear  it." 

'With  the  carp  there  goes  a  bumper 
Of  old  Salva  wine!     What  say'st  thou? 
Asked  with  sparkling  eyes  his  comrade. 
Plodding  on  beneath  the  branches, 
Their  famed  wine  they  were  discussing, 
Cask  by  cask  throughout  the  cellar, 
When  with  eyes  of  stricken  terror 
Straight  they  saw  the  barren  cross-tree 
And  the  Savior's  image  scattered 
On  the  ground  in  many  pieces. 

'What  is  this?  O  God  of  mercies! 
Do  my  own  good  eyes  deceive  me? 
Look!     Jesaias,  look  before  thee!  " 


The  Wild  Huntsman         117 

And  they  stood  aghast  with  horror, 

Staring  at  the  splintered  fragments, 

And  upon  the  cross  dismantled. 

Jeremias  broke  out  sharply: 

"If  the  devil  had  no  hand  in  't, 

I  will  vouch  it  was  no  other  " — 

"Than  the  Count  Hans  Hackelberend," 

Friar  Jesaias  quickly  added, 

"Look!    There  sticks  the  Count's  black  arrow! 

Did  no  lightning  strike  the  monster? 

Does  the  Lord  in  His  forbearance 

Set  no  limit  for  the  sinner? " 

Then  in  trembling  haste  they  gathered 

All  the  cross's  precious  relics, 

And  sped  onward  to  the  convent. 

Pressed  with  cares  and  heavy  hearted 

Was  the  reverend  Abbot,  Paulus, 

When  the  fishers  hurried  to  him 

With  their  tale  of  dastard  outrage. 

He  was  brooding  o'er  ill  tidings 

Of  the  peasants'  depredations  : 

Reinhardsbrunn,  a  sister  convent, 

Had  been  plundered  by  the  League  Shoe; 

Driven  forth  were  monks  and  abbot ; 

Wrecked  were  images  and  altars, 

And  the  very  tombs  demolished 

Of  Thuringia's  ancient  Landgraves; 

Torn  were  precious  scrolls  and  parchments, 


n8         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  their  chapel  burned  and  pillaged. 
Now  the  menace  of  the  Leaguers 
Shook  the  monks  of  Walkenrieden, 
And,  a  plague  in  its  contagion, — 
So  the  angry  Abbot  named  it — 
Spread  the  Doctor  Luther's  teaching. 
Townsmen  caught  it,  and  the  peasants 
In  their  turn  became  unruly ; 
Tithes  and  taxes  due  the  convent 
Were  delayed  and  oft  defaulted. 
Now,  alas!  Count  Hackelberend, 
Whom  in  bitterness  he  hated, 
Had  with  impious  presumption 
Hunted  deer  on  Corpus  Christi, 
And  disturbed  their  sacred  vespers 
With  his  dogs  and  blaring  fanfares. 
Last  and  worst,  the  Savior's  body 
He  had  shot  in  desecration. 
With  abhorrence  and  amazement 
Spread  the  tidings  in  the  convent, 
And  at  once  the  Master  Steward 
Was  before  the  Abbot  summoned. 

In  a  massive  walled  enclosure 

Rose  the  many  stately  buildings 

Of  the  ancient  monastery. 

Here  were  convent  house  and  chapter, 

With  their  spacious  halls  and  galleries, 

Dormitory,  storage  houses, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         119 

Barns,  refectory  and  kitchen, 

Stables,  granary  and  brewery, 

And  the  chapel,  standing  proudly, 

With  its  richly  blazoned  windows, 

And  its  sumptuous,  gilded  chancel ; 

Here  were  broad  and  shaded  cloisters, 

Arched,  with  pillars  nobly  carven, 

'Neath  which  stood  in  niche  and  angle 

Many  a  crumbling  stone-hewn  image 

Of  illustrious  knights  and  ladies, 

Honored  patrons  of  the  convent. 

Here  were  time-worn  marble  tablets 

With  illegible  inscriptions, 

Names  and  dates,  with  skull  and  cross-bones 

Warning  man:  "Memento  Mori." 

Near  the  chapel,  o'er  the  cloister, 

Was  the  Abbot's  quiet  dwelling, 

With  the  strong-barred  vaults  of  granite; 

While  the  cell  of  many  a  brother, 

Though  forbid  by  stringent  canon, 

Wanted  not  for  homelike  comforts, 

Tapestries  of  royal  weaving 

Decked  the  Abbot's  princely  chambers. 

Leathern-covered  seats  surrounded 

Tables  bearing  precious  parchments; 

Inlaid  cupboards,  bossed  and  gilded, 

Deep-carved  chests  and  polished  settles 

Held  the  treasures  of  the  chapel; 

Richly  wrought  there  lay  upon  them 


i2o         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Golden  ewers,  silver  sconces, 
Ancient  monstrances  and  censers, 
Jewelled  copes  and  gleaming  mitres, 
And  a  lamp  of  brass  glowed  dully, 
Swinging  low  before  Our  Lady. 

Paulus,  nine  and  thirtieth  Abbot 
From  the  ancient  chapter's  founding, 
Counting  through  its  four  long  centuries, 
Was  a  man  of  noble  bearing, 
Tall  and  powerful  of  stature ; 
Bold  his  brow  and  deep  beneath  it 
Gleamed  the  blue  eyes  of  a  master; 
Stern  they  were,  and  proud,  yet  kindly. 
Dark,  thick  locks  with  silver  threaded 
Fringed  his  cap  of  purple  velvet ; 
Vigorous  his  step  and  movement, 
Low  his  voice,  but  full,  sonorous. 
Up  and  down  in  his  apartment 
Paced  he  now,  the  while  his  right  hand 
Clenched  his  golden  cross  of  office, 
And  oft  pressed  it  to  his  bosom, 
As  if  thus  to  still  its  throbbing. 
Bowing  low,  the  Master  Steward 
With  crossed  arms  the  chamber  entered. 
He  was  many  years  the  elder, 
And  his  body  vastly  rounder. 
'Your  High  Reverence  commanded," 
Said  he  humbly,  "that  your  servant  " — 


The  Wild  Huntsman         121 

"No,  Johannes!     Naught  of  Reverence!'1 
Paulus  checked  him,  "I  have  called  thee 
As  my  friend  with  whom  I  've  broken 
Bread  uncounted  times  together" — 
"Yea,  and  drained  uncounted  wine  casks," 
Thought  the  portly  Master  Steward. 
"I  need  friendly  counsel,  brother;' 
Said  the  Abbot,  "come,  sit  near  me; 
Lend  to  me  thy  ear,  Johannes: 
But  thy  tongue  must  needs  be  fettered, 
And  beyond  this  threshold,  never 
May  a  single  word  escape  thee." 
And  the  Abbot  faced  his  listener 
In  a  solemn  tone  proceeding: 

"Long  ago,  within  a  palace, 
Lived  two  youthful  knights  together, 
Pledged  by  oath  to  sacred  friendship ; 
Both  rode  to  the  chase  with  ardor, 
Both  alike  sat  firm  in  saddle, 
And,  like-skilled,  their  weapons  wielded. 
At  this  court  there  dwelt  a  maiden, 
An  attendant  of  the  Princess, — 
Hildegard  her  name, — whose  fairness 
Was  enhanced  by  rarest  virtues, 
And  a  nature  blithe  and  sunny. 
Golden  hair  of  dazzling  beauty, 
Unrestrained  by  net  or  coiffure, 
Flowed  about  her  shapely  shoulders. 


122         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Soon  her  loveliness  enkindled 
Both  their  knightly  hearts,  resistless; 
And  each  sued  by  word  and  action 
For  acceptance  of  his  homage. 
Hildegard  to  both  was  gracious, 
And  if  in  her  heart,  deep  hidden, 
She  loved  one  above  the  other, 
By  no  deed,  or  look,  or  whisper 
Did  she  e'er  reveal  her  secret. 
Thus  the  rivals'  plighted  friendship 
By  severest  strain  was  tested ; 
Faithfully  they  kept  their  pledges, 
Both  adoring  her,  both  suffering. 

"It  was  anno  nine  and  ninety, 

With  the  Swiss  a  feud  was  kindled, 

When  their  Prince  was  called  for  service 

As  a  vassal  to  the  standard 

Of  the  Emperor  Maximilian  ; 

And  the  valiant  knights  both  followed 

In  the  war  train  of  their  liege  lord. 

Then  the  one  addressed  his  comrade: 

'  Of  us  two,  't  were  best  one  only 

From  the  war  return ;  the  other, 

If  the  hostile  halberds  spare  him, 

By  his  friend's  good  spear  should  perish; 

The  survivor  then  may  freely 

Woo  her  whom  we  both  do  covet.' 

To  this  plan  they  both  consented, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         123 

And  at  parting  each  knight  carried 
O  'er  his  heart  a  lock,  soft-curling, — 
O,  the  lustrous  hair,  Johannes ! 
Never  was  the  brow  of  woman 
Crowned  with  tresses  of  like  beauty. 

"On  the  fierce-fought  field  of  Dornach, 

One  of  them — hard-pressed  and  hopeless, 

As  against  great  odds  he  struggled — 

Saw  his  knightly  rival  near  him, 

And  called  out  to  him  for  succor. 

False  the  friend  who  saw  and  heard  him — 

Who  was  free  to  give  him  aidance, 

With  a  ready  troop  to  follow, 

And  yet  turned  his  horse  to  safety, 

Heedless  of  his  friend  imperilled. 

Wounded  lay  the  one  deserted, 

In  the  midst  of  dead  and  dying, 

Till  the  Swiss  came  to  his  rescue. 

Then  in  Basle  upon  a  pallet, 

Long  with  death  he  bravely  wrestled. 

Often  in  his  feverish  ravings 

Hildegard  he  saw  in  visions, 

Radiant,  starlike  in  her  beauty, 

Giving  him  new  strength  and  courage. 

Weary  weeks  rolled  by  unheeded, 

But  at  last  his  steed  he  mounted 

For  the  long,  slow  journey  homeward. 

When  he  neared  the  Prince's  castle, 


124         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Tidings  of  his  loved  one's  nuptials, 

Scarce  a  week  since  with  his  comrade, 

Were  to  him  a  blow  more  crushing 

Than  the  foeman's  spiked  cudgels. 

Broken,  spent,  his  dreams  all  shattered, 

Faith  in  God  and  human  virtue 

Seemed  to  him  but  flitting  shadows, 

And  he  uttered  bitter  curses, 

Hurling  them  at  saints  and  Heaven, 

Vowing  vengeance  on  the  traitor. 

Then  anew  he  lay  in  fever, 

Wretched,  sick,  by  God  abandoned. 

When,  a  second  time  recovered, 

He  had  from  his  couch  arisen, 

It  was  with  a  contrite  spirit. 

All  his  burning  wrath  had  vanished; 

Penitence  now  overcame  him, 

Since  he  'd  doubted  God's  great  mercy. 

Then  he  sold  his  steed  and  bridle 

And  his  arms  to  aid  the  needy ; 

Yea,  his  very  name  he  blotted 

From  the  memory  of  the  living, 

So  that  none  again  should  know  him; 

And,  like  Saulus  in  Damascus, 

His  proud  heart  he  lowly  humbled, 

Called  himself  from  that  day  Paulus, 

And  sought  shelter  in  the  cloister. 

There  is  little  need,  Johannes, 

To  give  names  to  these  companions. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         125 

One  was  Count  Hans  Hackelberend, 
And  the  cowled  monk — behold  him ! ' 

Pausing  in  his  tale,  the  Abbot 
Opened  wide  an  oaken  coffer, 
And  before  the  Master  Steward 
Placed  an  unclasped  jewelled  locket; 
In  it  lay  a  curling  ringlet 
Of  a  wondrous  golden  lustre. 
Both  were  mute,  but  when  Johannes 
Moved  his  lips  as  if  to  question, 
Paulus  checked  him:  "Silence,  brother! 
For  the  story  is  not  ended. 
There  is  more  and  worse  to  follow : 
Still  I  sought  by  fervent  prayers, 
By  long  fasts  and  cruel  penance, 
Riddance  of  all  worldly  pleasures, 
Of  unholy  thoughts  and  wishes ; 
Read  of  saints  and  holy  fathers, 
Read  and  wrote  till  dawn  of  morning; 
Much  I  found,  save  what  I  searched  for, 
Peace  of  mind  and  resignation. 
Later,  then,  I  begged  admittance 
To  the  Walkenrieden  Convent, 
Well  content  to  be  thus  nearer 
Treseburg,  where  dwelt  my  lady; 
For  beneath  the  monk's  black  habit 
Still  survived  the  knight  and  lover. 
As  with  heavy  fetters  weighted, 


126         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Ever  suffering,  nigh  despairing, 

Days  and  weeks  and  months  passed  slowly, 

While  I  bitterly  regretted 

My  rash  act  of  world  renouncement. 

When  I  heard  of  feud  and  warfare 

Outside  in  the  realm,  great  longing 

Seized  my  torn  and  peaceless  spirit, — 

Like  a  bird  in  cage  imprisoned 

When  its  mates  are  southward  flying. 

Often  was  I  well-nigh  ready 

For  escape,  my  cowl  exchanging 

For  a  knightly  helm  and  armor, 

But  I  lingered  on  in  anguish. 

Tempted  by  my  heart's  deep  yearning, 

From  afar  I  longed  to  see  her, 

But  this  mad  desire  I  conquered. 

Yet  I  once  met  Hackelberend, 

And  my  hood  I  quick  drew  o'er  me, 

Till  he  passed  me  by  unheeding, 

And  so  well  have  I  contrived  it 

That  he  has  not  yet  suspected 

Walkenrieden's  hated  Abbot 

Is  his  erstwhile  friend  and  comrade, 

Once  called  Egon,  Count  of  Hordorf, 

Long  deemed  dead  and  nigh  forgotten 

"But  the  Countess  Hackelberend, 
Hearing  of  the  monk,  whose  learning 
Spread  his  fame  beyond  the  convent, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         129 

Came  to  him  to  make  confession. 

From  my  cell  and  Plato  summoned 

Hastened  I  to  my  confessional, 

Knowing  neither  name  nor  station 

Of  the  one  whose  stricken  conscience 

Needed  priestly  intercession, 

And,  as  wont,  I  calmly  entered. 

But,  Johannes!     What  wild  tumult 

Fell  upon  me  as  I  listened 

To  that  voice  so  well  remembered ! 

Not  an  instant's  doubt  possessed  me: 

It  was  she — my  best  beloved! 

'T  was  as  if  her  soul's  white  passion 

Entered  into  mine  and  scorched  it 

With  a  flame  of  heavenly  anguish — 

Anguish  that  o'erran  my  being, 

Vibrant  like  some  windswept  harpstring ! 

From  my  seat  behind  the  lattice, 

In  the  chapel's  gloomy  twilight 

I  saw  Hild'gard's  tresses  gleaming. 

Dazed  and  mastered  by  emotion, 

Reeling  in  my  stall  I  sat  there. 

And  the  sin  of  her  confessing? 

'T  was  her  love,  a  love  undying, 

For  the  Knight,  Count  Egon  Hordorf — 

For  the  one  to  whom  she  weeping 

Her  great  sorrow  now  confided  ! 

From  her  lips  I  heard  the  story 

Of  the  comrades'  plighted  friendship, 
9 


130         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Of  the  call  to  war,  the  parting, 

And  her  fervent  prayer  to  Heaven 

That  I  might  be  saved  to  claim  her, 

And  our  love  find  its  fulfilment. 

Then  returned  Count  Hackelberend 

Telling  of  the  death  of  Egon. 

Filled  with  hopeless  grief,  and  thinking 

She  would  honor  her  lost  lover, 

As  a  sacrifice  and  tribute 

To  the  memory  of  Egon, 

This,  his  dearest  friend,  she  wedded. 

Never,  though,  had  his  loved  image 

From  her  heart  been  wholly  banished ; 

Often  she  in  dreams  beheld  him — 

In  the  arms  of  Hackelberend 

It  was  Egon  she  remembered, 

And  thus  in  the  man  beside  her 

She  had  loved  the  friend  departed ; 

And  a  vivid  premonition 

Had  incessantly  pursued  her 

That  Count  Hordorf  still  was  living, 

And  that  she  again  would  meet  him 

To  whose  soul  she  was  united, 

Then  as  in  the  life  hereafter. 

But  her  conscience  preyed  upon  her, 

For  her  heart  was  all  unfaithful 

To  the  Count,  her  lawful  husband  : 

So  in  her  distress  and  sorrow 

She  besought  my  priestly  counsel. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         131 


"Now,  Johannes,  when  great  burdens 

Are  imposed  on  man  by  Heaven, 

He  should  murmur  not,  but  bear  them; 

If  the  load  becomes  too  heavy, 

He  may  sink,  when  strength  forsakes  him, 

As  beneath  the  cross  our  Savior; 

Or  the  flesh  revolts,  and  leads  him 

On  to  guilt  and  base  dishonor. 

Thus  I  fell  when  I  was  tempted. 

Undeceived  by  that  confession, 

Peace  and  hope  were  gone  forever. 

Then  I  knew  that  with  fair  Hild'gard, 

I  'd  have  lived,  my  earth  an  Eden, 

As  an  honored  knight  and  noble 

In  the  castle  of  my  fathers. 

Now  was  I  a  broken  friar, 

Sad,  defrauded,  close  imprisoned 

In  a  convent's  narrow  limits. 

I  '11  not  tell  to  thee  the  struggle 

That  beset  the  monk  confessor. 

Twenty  years  since  then  have  vanished, 

Yet  whene'er  that  memory  wakens 

Once  again  the  storm  bursts  o'er  me. 

Bold,  defiant  projects  darted 

Through  my  brain  like  lightning  flashes. 

One  resolve,  though,  stood  unshaken : 

I  would  plan  a  meeting  with  her; 

But  not  here  in  this  my  dungeon, 

Nor  within  the  stifling  convent; 


132         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Outside,  under  God's  bright  heaven, 

I  'd  devise  some  way  to  see  her, — 

Only  once  and  never  after. 

In  a  muffled  voice  I  answered 

Time  for  prayer  and  thought  was  needed, 

Ere  I  could  absolve  her  wholly; 

Yet  I  bade  her  be  of  comfort, 

And  at  sunset  in  the  forest, 

Humbly  suppliant  for  His  blessing, 

At  the  cross  invoke  the  Savior. — 

It  was  then  and  there  I  met  her. 

Joy  and  anguish  intermingled 

As  our  hearts  beat  close  together, 

Once  with  tenderness  embracing, 

But  to  part  again  forever. 

Hild'gard's  very  soul  was  riven, 

And  by  grief  she  was  so  stricken, 

That  within  the  se'nnight  following 

Came  her  passing.     Peace  be  with  her  ! 

"Thrice  ye  've  chosen  me  your  Abbot ; 
Twice  did  I  refuse  the  honor, 
But  now  as  your  faithful  shepherd, 
Bear  I  abbot's  staff  and  mitre. 
Mindful  of  a  charge  so  sacred, 
I  maintain  with  instant  duty 
All  the  power  of  the  convent. 
Thus  it  was  on  me  incumbent 
To  admonish,  yea,  to  threaten 


The  Wild  Huntsman         133 

The  offending  Hackelberend. 

Now  this  monster  has  committed 

An  outrageous  crime  'gainst  Heaven, 

And  the  Church's  curse  must  follow; 

But  I  know  not  yet  my  duty. 

Is  it  meet  and  right,  Johannes, — 

Dare  I,  with  my  own  vows  broken 

At  the  very  cross  he  shattered, 

With  my  conscience  sorely  burdened 

By  the  death  of  Countess  Hild'gard, 

Now  approach  our  holy  altar 

And  proscribe  her  loathed  husband? 

While  I  bear  him  deadly  hatred, 

Does  a  lover's  wrath  not  arm  me 

When  I  smite  with  Heaven's  vengeance? 

Now  thou  knowest  all,  Johannes; 

I  await  thy  friendly  counsel! ' 

Long  Johannes' sat  in  silence, 

Wrapt  in  thought  and  sternly  visaged ; 

Then  he  slowly  gave  his  answer : 

"If  thou  all  to  me  submittest 

To  decide  and  render  judgment, 

Grant  me  time  for  due  reflection 

And  for  prayerful  meditation. 

Weighing  well  thy  words,  I  '11  judge  thee 

What  is  meet  and  what  thy  duty. 

Guard  thy  cell,  and  if  thou  hearest 

Chapter  bell  at  sunset  tolling, 


134         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Know  that  acting  by  thy  warrant 

I  have  summoned  all  the  council. 

When  the  brothers  have  assembled 

In  the  Chapter  hall  together, 

Then  by  virtue  of  thy  office 

Lay  the  Church's  ban  upon  him. 

Hear'st  thou  naught,  let  God's  great  mercy 

Mete  out  justice  to  the  sinner." 

Clasping  hands  in  faithful  silence, 
Paulus  and  Johannes  parted. 
Slowly  dragged  the  hours  of  waiting 
In  their  lonely  cell  seclusion. 
When  at  eve  the  lingering  glimmer 
From  the  golden  cross  had  faded, 
Loud  the  bells  rang  out,  resounding 
Deep-toned,  solemn,  woe-portending. 
Full  arrayed,  the  Abbot  Paulus, 
With  his  silver  staff  and  mitre, 
Firm  of  step  the  Chapter  entered, 
Striding  straightway  to  the  lectern, 
And  before  the  grave  assembly 
Uttered  excommunication 
Of  the  Count  Hans  Hackelberend, 
And  consigned  him,  soul  and  body, 
To  damnation  everlasting. 


VIII 


Wulfhilde  and  Waldtraut 


IN  wild  caprice  the  rushing  Bode 
Skirts  towering  cliff  and  rocky  wall, 
And  thundering  down  the  narrow  gorges, 

Escapes  the  granite  giant's  thrall. 
In  widened  vale  through  mead  and  woodland 

It  gleams,  and  winds,  and  gaily  plays, 
And  spatters  foam  on  stones  and  ledges 

That  chide  it  in  its  sportive  ways. 
It  skips  along  the  lush  green  meadows 

To  give  the  thirsty  herbage  drink, 
And  rippling  onward,  idly  dallies 

Close  by  the  darkling  forest's  brink. 
It  lures  the  trees  that  lean  above  it 

Within  its  cooling  dews  to  lave, 
And  see  their  over-drooping  tresses 

Submerged  beneath  the  tranquil  wave; 
Beside  them  in  its  crystal  mirror 

The  clouds  and  sun  and  moon  are  shown ; 
Below  disport  the  trout  and  grayling; 

Glass-clear  lie  sand  and  pebble  stone. 

135 


136         The  Wild  Huntsman 

O'er  purling,  plashing,  murmuring  eddies, 
Where  legend's  treasure-trove  abounds, 

In  unison  from  wind  and  waters 
A  low  and  dreamy  chant  resounds. 

Here,  where  the  placid  shallows  dimpled 

And  Nature  in  soft  dalliance  smiled, 
Sat  Wulfhild'  and  her  wood  nymph  Waldtraut, 

And  twining  wreaths  their  time  beguiled. 
Forget-me-nots  so  blue  and  tender 

Wulfhilde  for  sweet  Waldtraut  wove, 
While  Waldtraut  wound  for  her  dear  lady 

Green  leaves  new  plucked  from  out  the  grove. 
Wulfhilde  sought  no  sun-dyed  floweret 

That  there  its  dainty  head  did  rear, 
But  chose  to  wear  for  her  adorning 

The  lustred  oak  leaf's  green  austere. 
How  differing,  yet  how  like,  these  maidens, — 

As  two  sea  pearls  by  waves  upthrown, 
Or  as  the  wild  and  fragrant  berry 

Resembles  those  in  gardens  grown. 
Like  that  of  sisters  was  their  beauty 

In  every  softly  rounded  line, 
In  eyes'  deep  blue,  and  brows'  high  arching, 

Rose  cheeks,  and  lips  like  glowing  wine. 
There  was  in  Wulfhild's  high  demeanor 

A  trace  that  told  of  proud  descent, 
And  yet  a  touch  of  melancholy 

With  her  sweet  laugh  and  glances  blent ; 


The  Wild  Huntsman         137 

But  from  the  roguish  eyes  of  Waldtraut 

A  blithesome,  happy  spirit  smiled, 
And  all  she  felt,  or  thought,  or  uttered, 

Revealed  the  simple-hearted  child. 
While  her  slight  wound  was  slowly  healing 

A  loving  trust  and  friendship  grew, 
And  maiden  confidence  and  wisdom 

Each  from  the  other  fondly  drew. 
"Wouldst  have  me  tell  thee,"  queried  Wald- 
traut, 

"How  this  forget-me-not  was  named? 
'T  was  not  to  give  a  lover's  message 

That  thus  the  tender  words  were  framed. 
Should  one  with  magic  rod  discover 

A  hidden  treasure,  I  've  been  told, 
This  flower  upon  his  hat  will  lead  him 

To  dark,  deep  caverns  heaped  with  gold ; 
Nor  will  the  dreadful  dragons  harm  him, 

While  dropping  hat  and  fairy  guide 
He  gathers  freely  from  the  riches, — 

Till  loud  resounds  on  every  side: 
'Begone!     Begone:  and  take  thy  treasure! ' 

With  pillaged  hoard  he  turns  to  fly, 
And  hat  and  flower  are  forgotten, — 

When  through  fierce  flames  he  hears  a  cry: 
'Forget-me-not ! '     Then  should  he  waver 

And  leave  the  calling  flower  behind, 
His  new-found  wealth  at  once  would  vanish; 

His  way  to  earth  he  ne'er  could  find !  ' 


138         The  Wild  Huntsman 


"Are  treasures  truly  there?  "  asked  Wulfhild', 

"And  evil  spirits  down  below?  " 
"O,  ay!     And  woe  to  him  who  meets  them, 

For  malice  oft  to  man  they  show ; 
Yet  some  of  them  are  kindly  nixies, 

Dost  thou  not  mind  the  moss-maids  wee? 
And  how,  if  woodmen  cut  three  crosses 

Into  a  trunk  or  fallen  tree, 
To  give  them  refuge  from  the  ghost  hordes, 

The  little  elves,  that  very  night, 
Will  leave  behind  thick-growing  branches, 

That  turn  to  gold  beneath  the  sight. 
And  then,  there's  Eckhardt,  true  and  faithful, 

Who  strides  before  the  Woden  Hosts, 
And  warns  men  to  beware  of  witchcraft, 

And  all  the  fearsome  power  of  ghosts ; 
For  well  he  knows  the  fiends  malignant 

That  joy  in  mortal  grief  and  loss, 
Who  vanish  when  the  early  cock  crows, 

And  dare  not  look  upon  the  cross. 
A  horsehoof  is  the  spirits'  goblet 

From  which  they  drink  all  in  a  ring; 
If  travellers  step  into  a  cart-rut, 

No  spell  upon  them  can  they  fling." 
"Speak  not  so  loud  of  them,"  begged  Wulf- 
hild', 

"I  shudder  at  the  very  thought; 
Hast  ever  with  thine  eyes  beheld  them, 

Or  of  them  in  the  wood  seen  aught?" 


The  Wild  Huntsman         139 

"Not  I;  but  many  wondrous  stories 

My  grandam  tells;  she  's  met,  I  ween, 
Both  Wode  and  his  spouse,  Dame  Holle, 

Who  is  the  phantoms'  stately  Queen. 
Her  golden  plough  once  went  to  pieces, 

And  with  lament  from  out  the  broom 
The  crickets  all  crawled  forth  to  help  her, 

And  chirped  to  make  the  joiner  come. 
She  's  called  the  Iron  One  and  Wild  One, 

And  when  she  shakes  her  bed,  then,  lo! 
The  snow  flies  over  field  and  mountain, 

And  children  name  her  Queen  of  Snow. 
She  loves  the  little  ones  most  dearly 

And  keeps  them  always  at  her  side ; 
My  grandam  told  this  story  of  her 

Just  after  baby  sister  died : 
She  said  that  once  a  stricken  mother, 

Who  wept  and  wept  in  sad  despair, 
While  lingering  at  her  darling's  graveside, 

Saw  coming  through  the  moonlit  air 
Dame  Holle  with  a  troop  of  children, 

And  one  wee  babe,  the  last  of  all, 
So  weary,  lorn,  and  heavy  laden 

It  seemed  she  needs  to  earth  must  fall. 
The  mother's  tear-dimmed  eyes  were  startled; 

She  stood  and  gazed  in  wonder  wild, 
Then  to  her  aching  heart,  fast  throbbing, 

She  caught  her  own,  her  longed-for  child! 
The  little  one,  with  small  hands  clinging, 


i4°         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Crept  warm  within  her  loving  breast, 
And  murmured,  as  she  nestled  closer, 

By  arms,  long  empty,  soft  caressed : 
'Dear  mother,  cease  thy  piteous  weeping, 

For  I  must  catch  thy  every  tear; 
See  how  my  jug  is  overflowing, 

And  drenching  e'en  my  kirtle  here! 

The  maidens  sat  in  thoughtful  silence, 

Till  in  a  branch  that  o'er  them  grew 
A  bird  sang;  to  the  face  of  Waldtraut 

A  golden  ray  of  sunlight  flew! 
And  trilling  like  the  brown-winged  warbler, 

She  cried:  "O,  hear  his  happy  note! 
Of  all  the  songsters  he  's  my  favorite, 

Dear  robin,  with  the  crimson  throat !  ' 
"Ah  me!  thy  favorite!  "  laughed  Wulfhilde, 
'There  's  not  one  on  the  swinging  bough 
Thou  dost  not  give  that  self-same  title, 

Thou  Sweet !  my  own  loved  favorite  thou  !  ' 
"O,  listen  to  his  gladsome  carol! 

At  times  he  pipes  a  shrill  alarm 
To  warn  the  plover  and  the  pheasant ; 

So  all  the  hunters  wish  him  harm. 
But  when  men  die  within  the  forest, 

This  little  bird,  so  wee  and  brave, 
Will  bury  them  'neath  leaves  and  blossoms, 

And  cover  o'er  their  lonely  grave." 
"Thou  legend-storehouse,  full  of  wisdom!  " 


The  Wild  Huntsman         141 

Wulfhilde  cried,  "it  doth  appear 
That  e'en  the  birds  tell  thee  their  secrets, 

And  flowers  whisper  in  thy  ear ! ' 
"Perhaps,"     laughs    Waldtraut,     "name    and 
virtue 

I  know  of  many  a  woodland  weed ; 
There  's  much  to  learn,  if  one  but  listens 

As  flowers  grow  from  seed  to  seed. 
We  must  not  think  they  're  mute  and  silent; 

Each  one  of  them,  each  leaf,  has  speech; 
They  have  a  voice, — a  tiny,  sweet  one — 

That  fails  our  blunted  ears  to  reach, 
And  deaf  we  are  to  all  their  prattle ; 

But  it  is  well  they  are  not  heard, 
For  else  there  would  be  such  a  clatter 

We  could  not  understand  a  word." 

"Now,"    Wulfhild'  spoke,    "don    thy    bright 
chaplet !  " 

And  Waldtraut  answered  merrily  : 
"I,  too,  can  wind  around  thy  tresses 

The  wreath  that  I  have  twined  for  thee." 
In  Waldtraut's  hair,  where  sunlight  glinted, 

Appeared  the  dainty  band  of  blue, 
As  if  by  hand  of  fairies  fashioned 

To  gild  her  loveliness  anew. 
On  Wulfhild's  head,  more  proudly  chiselled, 

The  oak  conferred  its  stateliness. 
And,  crowned  in  all  her  youthful  glory, 


i42         The  Wild  Huntsman 

She  seemed,  in  truth,  a  fair  princess. 
Waldtraut's  blue  eyes  looked  on  her  gravely: 

'Whoever  wears  the  oak's  firm  leaf 
Will  love  with  loyal,  deep  affection, 

If  love  bring  joy  or  withering  grief." 
"Joy!  "  sighed  Wulfhilde,  sadly  smiling, 

With  downcast  look  and  shake  of  head, 
"As  deep  my  love  is,  in  like  measure 

My  heart  to  blight  and  pain  is  wed ! 
But  come,  dear  child,  what  saith  the  emblem 

That  nestles  in  thy  sunny  hair?" 
And  in  a  quaintly  tender  warble 

Waldtraut  began  this  plaintive  air: 


A  floweret  blue  with  a  wistful  look 
Bade  the  sea-bound  wavelets  in  the  brook  : 

"  Forget-me-not !  " 
They  laughed :  "  We  must  leave  all  behind. 
And  out  of  sight  is  out  of  mind, 

Forget-me-not  /  " 


Eyes,  bright  and  blue,  of  a  little  maid 
Beamed  on  a  comely  lad  and  said  : 

11  Forget-me-not  /  " 
The  youth  saw  beckoning  sails  unfurled, 
A  nd  he  would  roam  and  see  the  world. 

Forget-me-not ! 


The  Wild  Huntsman         143 

When  lone  on  the  deep,  the  day  grew  dim, 
And  stars  shone  fair,  then  woe  seized  him, 

Forget-me-not ! 
He  leaned  to  the  waves  with  a  yearning  look, 
And  lo  !  they  sang  the  song  of  the  brook  : 

' '  Forget-me-not  !  ' ' 

"Forget,"     breathed     Wulfhild',    "ah,     how 
gladly, 

And  so  in  peace  to  bear  my  lot ; 
But  how  shall  speeding  time  bring  comfort, 

When  sorrow  calls :  '  Forget-me-not ! ' 
I  '11  sing  to  thee,  if  thou  wilt  listen, 

The  sad  strain  of  a  restless  heart ; 
'T  will  seem  so  strange  to  thee  and  hopeless, 

And  from  thy  happiness  apart :  " 

The  dayspring  is  past,  and  the  sun's  journey 
endeth, 

O  haste  thee  away,  thou  unpitying  light  ! 
And  thou,  as  thy  shadowy  mantle  descendeth, 

O  bring  me  his  image,  thou  solacing  night  ! 

Again  shall  my  eyes  in  their  rapture  behold  him, 

The  star  of  my  life  that  has  faded  away. 
Again  to  this  breast  shall  these  loving  arms  fold 
him, 
And  thou,  0  my  heart,  dream  he  '11  love  thee 
for  aye  / 


144         The  Wild  Huntsman 

O  dolorous  love,  that  can  never  knozv  waning  ! 
How  cruel  thy   torment !      Hozv  fatal  my 
plight  ! 
If  day  with  its  fervor  bring  grief  and  com- 
plaining, 
Come   thou,  and  beguile   me,  more   merciful 
night  ! 

Waldtraut,  who  felt  the  wistful  sadness 
That  sighed  in  Wulfhild's  every  word, 

Embraced  her  friend,  and  softly  carolled 
A  soothing  lay,  like  some  night  bird: 

In  detvy  grass,  the  slumbering  flowers 
Dream  of  the  bee,  fidl-honeyed,  flown, 

And  night  winds  sigh  in  leafy  bozvers : 
' '  O  dost  thou  sleep,  my  love,  my  own  ?  ' ' 

And  pale  the  7110011  floats  0'  er  the  wood. 

The  drowsy  boughs  with  soft  caresses 
Sway  in  the  gently  murmuring  tree, 

And  every  whispering  leaf  confesses  : 
"  Forever  I  '11  be  true  to  thee  !  ' 

And  pale  the  moon  floats  o'er  the  wood. 

Now  all  the  amorous  airs  are  dying, 
And  lulling  peace  sleeps  in  my  breast ; 

On  thee  the  night's  soft  kiss  is  lying  : 
O  Joy  be  thine,  my  love,  and  rest  ! 

And  pale  the  moon  floats  o'er  the  wood. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         145 

There  passed  through  copse  and  tangled  thicket 

A  gust  of  cool,  refreshing  air; 
The  tender  sprays  and  drooping  branches 

Began  to  shiver  everywhere. 
In  stillness  born,  to  silence  dying, 

Its  light  wings  sped  in  rustling  flight ; 
And  with  a  breathless,  low  suspiring 

Long  whispers  told  of  coming  night. 
It  was  the  wind  that  stirs  at  even, 

And  slips  through  foliage  and  bloom 
As  if  it  cautiously  on  tiptoe 

Stole  through  the  wood  in  twilight's  gloom. 

The  maids  turned  home,  and  on  their  pathway 

Encountered,  coming  from  the  chase, 
With  arms  and  spoil,  the  Count  and  Albrecht, — 

Contentment  mirrored  in  each  face. 
With  branches  covered,  Bruno  carried 

A  roebuck  that  his  master  slew, 
While  Ludolf  dragged  along  beside  him 

A  wolf  whose  life-blood  Albrecht  drew. 
Devotion  shone  in  Waldtraut's  glances, 

Avowing  all,  though  lips  were  mute ; 
While  Wulfhild' scarcely  deigned  to  answer 

Her  cousin's  chivalrous  salute. 
The  Count  with  pleasure  looked  upon  them, 

Gazed  thoughtfully  into  their  eyes, 
And  lingeringly  surveyed  the  picture 

That  held  him  there  by  twofold  ties. 


146         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  young  Knight  spoke:  "Though  well,  dear 
cousin, 

The  dark  green  oak  becomes  thy  face, 
'T  is  passing  strange  that  not  a  blossom 

In  all  thy  garland  finds  a  place !  ' 
Wulfhilde  answered,  slightly  trembling: 

"  The  flower  and  leaf  we  chanced  to  find; 
Her  wreath  enhances  Waldtraut's  graces, 

To  simple  green  my  choice  inclined." 
"And  wisely  hast  thou  done,  my  daughter. 

For  duty  did  thy  choice  allot, 
Since  thou,  the  oak,  must  ever  shelter 

This  tender,  blue  forget-me-not." 
The  Count  spoke  mildly,  as  if  blessings 

From  days  of  yore  to  him  recurred, 
And  some  long-vanished,  conquered  sorrow 

His  seared,  embittered  spirit  stirred. 
"How  is  it,"  he  continued  kindly, 

"That  thou,  Waldtraut,  dost  never  ask 
For  any  favor  I  might  grant  thee? 

To-day  I  'm  merry!     Name  the  task! ' 
"O,  then,  to-day,  Sir  Count,  I  '11  beg  thee 

The  great  destructive  boar  to  slay, 
That  ravages  the  poor  folks'  harvest, 

Who  for  some  swift  deliverance  pray !  ' 
"If  thy  desires  extend  no  farther, 

Why,  child,  I  pledge  my  huntsman's  word, 
His  tusks  shall  soon  adorn  thy  necklace, 

And  of  his  harm  no  more  be  heard ; 


The  Wild  Huntsman         147 

We  '11  seek  his  lair  upon  the  morrow 

And  speedily  he  '11  meet  his  end !  ' 
Thus  laughs  the  Count,  as  on  he  leads  them, 

And  they  the  castled  hill  ascend. 
The  air  is  sultry,  not  a  glimmer 

Is  visible  of  moon  or  star, 
And  ceaseless,  dismal  sheets  of  lightning 

Illume  the  darkling  clouds  afar. 


sy.  i "  '^^PrF^^^ 


IX 

The   Poacher 

OHOLY  dawn  of  morn!     Exalted 
Is  he  who  moves  through  thy  domain, 
And  of  thy  glow  and  gleaming  pageant 

With  seeing  eye  a  glimpse  doth  gain ! 
Resplendent  is  the  forest  temple 

With  colors  rare  in  dazzling  sheen, 
Its  verdure  laved  in  thy  bright  fountains, 

Restored  to  April's  living  green. 
The  jovial  hunter  oft  beholds  it 

When  starting  forth  in  joyous  mood, 
He  hails  the  first  soft  gray  of  dawning, 

And  with  his  dog  hies  to  the  wood. 
The  collier  sees  it,  too,  while  piling 

The  rounded  mound  of  wood  he  builds, 
When  stars  grow  faint  and  day's  bright  herald 

The  summit  of  the  mountain  gilds. 
The  strolling  minstrel  feasts  upon  it, 

Who  here  has  welcome  lodging  found, 
Host  Greenwood's  guest,  a  weary  wanderer, 

148 


The  Wild  Huntsman         149 

In  mantle  wrapped  upon  the  ground ; 
His  harpstrings  sound  to  golden  measures, 

In  contrast  with  his  meagre  purse, 
And  vying  with  the  feathered  minstrels, 

He  is  as  blithe,  nor  fares  he  worse. 
The  blended  perfume,  gently  wafted, 

Is  like  a  strong  and  spicy  wine, 
And  scattered  with  the  lavish  dewdrops, 

A  million  flashing  jewels  shine. 
Here  beads  of  crystal  clearness  tremble; 

There  sparkle  green  and  crimson  gems, 
Bright  grains  of  gold  and  glinting  silver 

And  diamond  dust  on  fretted  stems. 
The  brigand  spider,  always  lurking 

For  guileless  victims  come  to  grief, 
Holds  many  tiny,  limpid  globules 

In  his  outspread,  ensnaring  sieve. 
High  trots  the  fox,  alert  and  nimble; 

His  feathered  friends  are  long  awake — 
Afar  is  heard  a  lusty  crowing. 

The  stag  treads  slowly  through  the  brake ; 
Beside  the  forest's  edge  he  's  feasted 

Upon  the  peasant's  ripening  grain, 
And  cautiously,  with  paling  starlight, 

He  seeks  his  sheltered  lodge  again. 
The  dew  is  chill  and  in  the  open 

He  stretches  on  the  greensward  there 
To  let  the  grateful  early  sunshine 

Dry  off  his  tawny  coat  of  hair. 


150         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  Count  and  all  his  hunt  attendants 

At  daybreak  through  the  forest  chase 
To  close  around  the  monster  lead  boar 

And  track  him  to  his  hiding-place. 
They  range  without  a  dog  and  singly, 

Yet  close  together  circling  nigh, 
So  each  can  hear,  if  need  arises, 

The  other's  horn  or  hunting  cry. 
The  collier,  too,  slips  through  the  thicket 

Where  dense  the  netted  branches  grow ; 
Far  distant  from  his  home  and  coal-kiln 

He  poaches  with  his  ready  bow. 
The  deer,  refreshed,  his  proud  head  shaking, 

No  longer  trusts  to  open  glade, 
And  slowly  from  his  couch  arises 

To  find  his  wonted  harbor's  shade; 
When  suddenly  an  arrow  strikes  him, 

Like  winds  he  flies  the  brake  to  cross, 
But  speedily  his  strength  forsakes  him 

And  down  he  kneels  upon  the  moss. 
The  collier  hides  away  the  weapon 

That  sped  his  shaft ;  a  trail  of  blood 
Leads  to  the  stag,  now  still  and  lifeless, 

Outstretched  upon  the  purpled  sod. 
With  keen-edged  knife,  the  hide  first  slitting, 

The  poacher  calmly  flays  the  deer, — 
A  fox,  upon  a  rock  projecting, 

Looks  on  and  hankers  to  be  near; 
His  glittering  eyes  betray  his  pleasure, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         151 

In  hunger  keen  he  licks  his  beard, 
And  hopes  to  find  a  dainty  morsel 
Whene'er  the  man  has  disappeared. 

The  collier  ponders  for  a  moment 

How  with  the  spoils  he  '11  reach  his  cot — 
"Stay,  Volrat !     Do  not  move  a  finger 

Else  I  will  shoot  thee  on  the  spot !  ' 
It  is  the  Count  with  levelled  cross-bow, 

And  on  the  trigger  rests  his  hand. 
The  poacher,  for  an  instant  startled, 

With  calmness  meets  the  stern  demand: 
"Your  victim  you  have  keenly  scented! 

Shoot  quick,  Sir  Count,  and  tremble  not! 
For  if  by  chance  you  now  should  miss  me, 

You  'd  never  have  another  shot !  " 
He  pauses  midway  in  the  open, 

Holds  tightly  clasped  his  bloody  knife; 
But  firm  the  Count  strides  on  to  meet  him 

In  deadly  conflict,  life  for  life. 
They  stand  at  bay  a  few  short  moments, 

Both  silent ;  then  begins  the  Knight : 
'There  's  still  escape  from  thy  just  merits; 

I  can  forgive  and  bear  no  spite!  " 
"Not  so  for  me!     May  God  pass  judgment 

And  grant  you  mercy,  if  He  can, 
But  here  let  the  account  be  settled 

Between  us  two,  now,  man  for  man ! ' 
"Give  me  my  own  and  it  will  cancel 


152         The  Wild  Huntsman 

All  differences  'twixt  thee  and  me; 
Be  Waldtraut  mine,  then  shall  thy  freedom 

With  right  of  chase  be  granted  thee!  " 
"O  that  the  lightning's  bolt  might  blast  thee! 

The  tale  of  Ludolf,  then,  is  true! 
List !     I  would  rather  see  her  buried 

Than  leave  her,  God-accursed,  with  you!  " 

The  Count,  enraged,  with  fury  trembles, 

Blows  on  his  horn  the  call  for  aid, 
Then  hurls  himself  for  mortal  combat, 

Within  his  hand  the  unsheathed  blade. 
He  reaches  not  the  agile  poacher 

Who  vainly  lunges  at  his  breast, 
For  both,  the  lifted  forearms  clutching, 

The  weapons  in  their  course  arrest. 
In  vengeful,  desperate  contention 

They  trample  o'er  the  level  space, 
Draw  near  the  stag,  while  madly  grappling, 

And  struggle  in  a  fierce  embrace. 
The  tangling  antlers  trip  the  collier; 

The  Count  rolls  o'er  him  on  the  sod, 
And  each  to  free  himself  endeavors, 

Athirst  for  his  fell  foeman's  blood. 
The  huntsmen  toward  them  rush  with  Albrecht 

In  answer  to  the  bugle  blast, 
And  quickly  overpower  the  poacher, 

Who  pinioned  to  the  ground  is  cast. 
Now  Ludolf  swiftly  comes  to  join  them, 


•<=- 


tr 


^Cr^ 


>%v 


The  Wild  Huntsman         155 

And  Gerhard  speeds  to  bring  relief; 
Count  Hackelberend  gives  the  order: 

"Up  to  the  castle  with  the  thief!  " 
Thereon  he  steps  aside  with  Albrecht 

And  bids  him:  "Go  and  tarry  not! 
Thou  'It  act  as  escort  to  the  maidens, 

Who  spend  the  day  at  Aulke's  cot ; 
And  there  do  thou  awhile  detain  them 

Till  I  this  poacher's  pride  shall  quench: 
Within  the  hour  he  '11  ride  to  forest 

Upon  the  stag  that  's  in  the  trench ! ' 
"Nay,  uncle!  "  Albrecht  pleads  in  terror, 

"Without  due  process  and  decree 
Thou  canst  not  put  to  death  and  torture." 

"I  asked  not  for  advice  from  thee!  ' 
And  swelling  veins  show  his  resentment, 

But  Ludolf,  who  has  overheard, 
Exchanges  stealthy  looks  with  Albrecht, 

Who  asks  his  uncle  undeterred : 
"Wilt  thou  let  Ludolf  come  to  guide  me? 

Which  way  to  take  I  hardly  know : 
The  paths  diverge  to  Aulke's  cabin." 

The  Count  consents  for  both  to  go. 
When  once  the  pair  are  out  of  earshot 

They  counsel  in  an  eager  quest 
Of  some  device  to  save  the  poacher, 

And  thwart  the  vengeful  Count's  behest. 
Perchance,  before  its  dread  fulfilment, 

And  ere  all  efforts  come  too  late, 


156         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Wulfhilde  might  restrain  her  father, 
Or  Waldtraut,  mild,  appease  his  hate. 

They  hasten  on  with  flying  footsteps, 
But  Albrecht  soon  from  Ludolf  parts, 

He  takes  the  shortest  path  to  Aulke, 
While  Ludolf  through  the  forest  darts. 

The  huntsmen  with  the  hapless  collier 

Arrive  upon  the  castle  hill; 
Soon  with  a  net  the  stag  is  captured, 

Thrown  on  his  back  and  held  at  will. 
They  cross  and  tie  his  legs,  and  drag  him 

Up  from  the  moat  with  all  their  strength ; 
Then  on  the  beast,  to  fury  goaded, 

They  stretch  the  collier  at  full  length. 
But  Gerhard,  who  in  faithful  service 

Quailed  at  no  task,  ne'er  felt  so  loath 
To  carry  out  his  master's  bidding, 

And  humbly  says:  "I  '11  keep  my  oath 
To  do,  Sir,  what  you  may  command  me; 

Yet  as  your  oldest  servant  plead, 
While  it  is  meet  that  he  be  punished, 

Let  mercy  justice  here  exceed." 
"The  man  who  shrinks  shall  lie  in  shackles, 

E'en  if  he  eldest  liegeman  be!  ' 
Bursts  out   the  Count.      "I    've   failed   thee, 
Volrat!"— 

The  falconer  sighs— "Bend  thou  the  knee!  " 
"What!    Kneel  to  him?    'T  is  said  this  stag  here 


The  Wild  Huntsman         157 

Has  in  its  heart  a  cross  of  bone ! 
Nay,  bind  me  on  !  "  exclaims  the  collier, 

"For  his  base  heart  is  all  of  stone!  " 
The  men  stand  pale  and  hesitating; 

The  Count  in  frenzy  stamps:  "Obey!  " 
Waldtraut,  where  art  thou  ?    Chatting?    Laugh- 
ing? 

Or  twining  garlands  on  the  way? 
The  deed  is  done.     Securely  fastened 

Upon  the  deer  the  collier  lies; 
And  now,  as  if  the  dogs  were  on  him, 

The  stag  into  the  forest  flies. 

And  meanwhile,  Ludolf  lies  in  waiting, 

Within  a  hollow,  screened  from  sight, 
And  where,  as  his  keen  woodcraft  teaches, 

The  stag  will  turn  in  frantic  flight. 
"If  Albrecht  should  not  find  the  maidens, 

Or  if  they  plead  in  vain — alas!  " 
He  mutters,  and  as  slow  as  hours 

To  him  the  minutes  seem  to  pass. 
With  head  bent  low  he  harks  intently — 

A  pecking  bird;  a  creaking  limb; 
A  falling  leaf;  the  wind's  faint  whisper; 

Each  startles  and  affrightens  him. 
His  courage  sinks;  he  shakes  and  falters 

Unlike  a  man  resolved  to  save, 
But  like  one  lying  low  to  murder, 

Whose  bow  is  strung  to  fill  a  grave. 


158         The  Wild  Huntsman 

At  last  there  rises  from  the  valley 

A  rustle,  then  a  crash  and  roar, 
That  with  a  tempest's  rush  draws  nearer — 

Now  rally,  Soul!     Be  faint  no  more! 
Take  steady  aim!     Hold  firm  thy  cross-bow! 

As  lightning  swift  there  dashes  on 
A  something,  flitting  by  the  hunter, 

More  felt  than  seen.     He  shoots!    'T  is  gone! 
He  hears  the  maddening  race  continue. 

"The    shot    has    failed!      He    '11    soon    be 
crushed !  " 
The  clatter  lessens  in  the  distance ; 

But,  hark!     It  stops  and  all  is  hushed. 
'He  's  hit !"  cries  Ludolf,  "  Volrat  's  rescued  !  " 

And,  hastening  on  with  speed  of  hound, 
Beholds  the  stricken  deer  expiring, 

His  rider  safe  upon  the  ground. 
They  say  but  little  to  each  other, 

As  Ludolf  Volrat's  thongs  unties; 
The  collier  clasps  his  hand  on  rising, 

And  looks  into  the  hunter's  eyes: 
"Share  what  is  mine!  "  he  cries,  "O  comrade, 

My  Waldtraut  thee  I  gladly  give, 
But  I  will  hie  to  Thomas  Muenzer, 

Hence  only  for  revenge  to  live." 


The  Boar  Hunt 


THE  sultry,  breathless  days  that  followed 
Seemed  harbingers  of  destined  woe, 
And  sullen  clouds  of  raven  blackness, 

Like  sombre  penance  robes,  hung  low. 
'T  is  bleak  and  dismal  in  the  valley, 

The  threatening  cliffs  the  heavens  defy ; 
With  hollow  roar  the  Bode's  waters 

Roll  on  beneath  the  lowering  sky. 
It  is  as  if  a  prison's  shackles 

Were  thrown  on  all  that  revelled  free, 
And  peace  and  joy  within  the  castle 

Were  banished  by  a  stern  decree. 
The  merry  chase  no  longer  pleases, 

Delight  no  more  in  song  is  found, 
No  laughter  rings  from  hall  or  tower, 

No  falcon  call,  no  bugle  sound. 
And  sorely  do  they  feel  the  absence 

Of  one  most  dearly  loved  by  all — 
Waldtraut  has  silently  departed, 

i5y 


160         The  Wild  Huntsman 

And  vain  is  every  search  and  call. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  carried  with  her 

The  bright  blue  sky,  the  genial  sun, 
The  sportive  jests  and  care-free  laughter, 

The  merry  tales  by  Wenzel  spun. 
She  left  behind  her  care  and  peril, 

That  had  till  now  been  veiled  from  sight; 
As  if  dispelled  by  her  bright  spirit 

They  reappeared  upon  her  flight : 
For  frequently  of  late  came  tidings 

Of  unrelenting,  cruel  feud; 
From  far  and  near  the  peasants  gathered, 

Their  hands  with  noble  blood  imbrued. 
Men  talked  about  the  Helfensteiner, 

Whom  they  had  slain  in  deadly  strife, 
Whose  Weinsberg  castle  they  had  pillaged, 

And,  ruthless,  tortured  his  fair  wife ; 
Of  Jacklein  Rohrbach's  feast  at  Easter, 

And  Berlichingen's  iron  hand, 
Of  Metzler,  Hippler,  Florian  Geyer, 

And  Ulric,  Duke  of  Swabian  land. 

Count  Hackelberend,  too,  was  hated 

By  country  folk,  whose  yellowing  grain, 

Swept  down  as  if  by  hail  or  tempest, 
Lay  wasted  in  the  Huntsman's  train. 

And  then,  broadcast,  men  told  the  story 
Of  Volrat  and  the  madding  chase, 

How  he  upon  the  stag  was  pinioned; 


The  Wild  Huntsman         161 

And  thus  the  rancor  grew  apace. 
The  Count  alone  cared  naught  for  larums; 

Though  peasant  hut  and  princely  hall 
Were  ravaged,  he  ne'er  feared  the  havoc 

That  his  own  castle  might  befall. 
When  told  the  Abbot  had  proscribed  him, 

He  laughed  aloud  and  grimly  said : 
"The  one  who  meddles  with  a  wasp  nest 

A  little  buzzing  must  not  dread." 
Yet  his  keen  eye  had  marked  the  trouble 

And  gloom  revealed  in  every  face, 
And  straight  the  ancient  charm  he  offered : 

"Ho  !     Make  you  ready  for  the  chase ! ' 
The  needful  spears  again  are  gathered, 

That  in  the  hunt  of  boar  and  deer 
Have  often  trusty  service  rendered. 

No  timid  game,  that  flies  in  fear, 
Is  sought  to-day,  but  one  ferocious, 

The  hated  boar  in  all  his  might, 
Destroyer  of  the  ripening  harvest, 

To  Waldtraut  promised  by  the  Knight. 

The  kennel's  strongest  dogs  are  with  them, 

The  limer  on  the  leash  ahead, 
To  find  again  the  trace  uncovered, 

Where  late  the  coursing  huntsmen  sped. 
Here  deep  within  the  black  morasses 

The  savage  beasts  secrete  their  lair ; 
Here  lurk  amid  the  sombrous  twilight 


162         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  eagle-owl,  wild  boar  and  bear. 
Gigantic  oaks,  like  massive  pillars, 

Uphold  the  forest's  towering  dome — 
Their  gnarly  roots  stretched  o'er  the  surface, 

Like  dragons  in  their  caverned  home — 
Some  half  in  leaf  and  half  decaying, 

By  tempest  torn  and  lightning  blast, 
While  others  stand  in  stately  beauty 

Of  dark  green  foliage  amassed. 
The  huntsmen  steadily  press  forward, 

The  Count  leads  on  his  eager  band, 
Yet  each  one  feels  and  sees  in  others 

A  change  he  scarce  can  understand. 
But  most  of  all  their  master's  bearing 

Now  fills  them  with  a  vague  concern : 
He  's  heedless  of  the  quarry's  traces, 

And  shows  alarm  at  every  turn. 
Uneasily  his  roving  glances 

Search  every  screening  bush  and  tree, 
As  if  to  find  some  fearful  presence — 

A  foe  from  whom  he  needs  must  flee. 
His  heart  is  filled  with  dark  foreboding, 

And  oft  he  stops  for  breath  and  rest, 
While  plodding  slowly  through  the  forest, 

As  if  by  heavy  weight  oppressed. 

Half-hid  within  the  miry  burrows, 

Close  huddled  lie  the  wild,  black  swine; 
They  start  and  charge  in  sudden  rushes, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         163 

And  grunt  and  grub  'neath  root  and  vine. 
But  little  heed  the  watchful  huntsmen 

The  lesser  brutes,  or  wary  sow, — 
'T  is  only  for  the  monster  lead  boar 

That  men  and  dogs  are  searching  now. 
The  lime-hound,  from  the  line  unfastened, 

Barks  sharply  and  pursues  the  track; 
Unleashed,  set  on  with  growing  fury, 

Now  follows  unrestrained  the  pack. 
"Seek!  Seek!  Seek  sow!  "  urge  on  the  hunters. 

The  brushwood  crashes  in  the  bogs, 
And  rushing  forth,  alert  and  ready, 

The  boar  is  seized  by  sharp-fanged  dogs. 
He  flings  them  off  and  stands  defiant 

And  battles — one  opposed  to  ten. 
Soon  five  from  gashes  bleed ;  the  others 

Surround  him  as  within  a  pen. 
His  back  the  valiant  champion  shelters 

Against  an  oak  and  strikes  about, 
Each  time  a  daring  hound  assails  him ; 

Erect  his  bristle  mane  stands  out. 
As  with  a  hedge,  approach  forbidding, 

He  wields  his  curving  tusk  with  might, 
Against  the  roots  he  whets  it  frothing, 

And  ploughs  the  soil  in  stubborn  spite. 
From  out  the  thicket,  rash,  impulsive, 

The  Count  hastes  on,  himself  at  last, 
And  sets  the  iron  spear  for  stabbing, 

But  now — why  stands  he  thus  aghast? 


164         The  Wild  Huntsman 

What  sways  from  lightning-blasted  oak  tree? 

A  wind-blown  branch?  or  withered  limb? 
A  hunter  from  the  realm  of  spirits? 

Or  Woden's  self?     What  seizes  him 
To  chill  his  blood  with  icy  horror? 

As  if  some  fiend  had  bid  him  "Stay! ' 
He  stands  transfixed,  and  in  a  moment 

Is  stricken  by  the  boar  at  bay. 
He  falls  upon  the  earth  resistless, 

Though,    with  a  bound    that  naught  could 
check, 
Fierce  Will6  fells  the  snorting  monster, 

And  sinks  his  fangs  into  his  neck. 
Then  Gerhard  swings  his  spear  in  passion, 

And  deals  the  beast  a  mortal  wound, 
That  silently,  without  a  struggle, 

Sinks  dead  upon  the  bloody  ground. 
In  pallor  all  the  doughty  huntsmen 

Around  their  helpless  master  stand. 
Who  ever  knew  his  lance  to  fail  him? 

What  spell  had  stayed  his  mighty  hand? 
The  Count  still  stares  aloft  in  horror 

And  dyes  the  sod  around  him  red, 
The  while  the  hunters  frame  a  litter 

Of  spears  with  branches  overspread. 
The  wound  in  haste  the  falconer  dresses, 

And  strives  to  staunch  the  flowing  blood ; 
Then,  raising  him  upon  their  shoulders, 

They  gently  bear  him  from  the  wood. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         165 

When  slowly  through  the  forest  wending, 

They  meet  old  Aulke  hobbling  on : 
"Hey!     Huntsfolk,  have  ye   caught   the  lead 
boar? 

The  vicious  brute,  't  is  well  he  's  gone! 
Whom  do  I  see?     Your  master  injured? 

Has  he  already  Volrat  met  ? 
That  must  have  been  a  lively  tussle, 

For  Volrat  all  afire  was  set !  ' 
"Witch!  "  cries  the  Count  to  her  in  terror, 

And  bids  the  men  to  pause  for  rest, 
"Old  hag !     What  mean'st  thou  by  thy  gabble? 

What  dost  thou  with  thy  evil  jest?" 
"I  mean  the  neck  is  still  unbroken 

Of  him  whom  on  the  stag  you  bound. 
He  lives,  is  sound  in  limb  and  body, 

Has  joined  the  League,  and,  like  a  hound, 
Will  seek  your  trail,  a  fierce  avenger, 

And  know  no  peace  until  you  die. 
Your  time  has  come!     Your  race  has  ended! 

'T  were  well  you  bade  the  wood  good-bye! 
Ha !     Clearly  now  I  see  the  token — 

Between  your  eyebrows  stands  the  mark. 
But  little  longer  still  may  flicker 

Your  lamp  of  life,  ere  all  is  dark!" 
"Be  gone!"  called  Hackelberend  faintly, 

And  quickly  he  was  carried  by, 
While  Aulke  stood  with  scornful  laughter 

And  followed  with  her  evil  eye. 


XI 


The  Death  of  Hackelberend 


STRICKEN,  suffering,  slowly  sinking, 
Many  days  the  Count  lay  weary 
In  the  lofty  Bergfried's  chamber, 
Watching  through  the  opened  casements 
Clouds  that  rolled  high  o'er  the  mountains, 
And  the  birds  that  soared  to  heaven. 
Wrapt  for  hours  in  silent  musing, 
His  dark  eyes  betrayed  his  yearning, 
As  they  sought  the  changeful  forest, 
Donning  now  the  hues  of  autumn. 
When  the  wind  blew  through  the  tree-tops 
And  the  branches  seemed  to  beckon, 
He  would  madly  curse  and  order 
That  his  horse  be  quickly  saddled ; 
And  when  none  would  do  his  bidding, 
Springing  up  in  passion's  fury, 
Back  he  fell  in  sheer  exhaustion, 
Swooning  on  his  heated  pillow. 
Once  at  night  as  he  lay  listless 
Staring  dreamily  at  Wulfhild', 

166 


The  Wild  Huntsman         167 

Ever  winding  her  soft  tresses 

Round  his  fingers,  faint  a  whisper 

From  his  pallid  lips  repeated : 

"Hildegard,"  till  sleep  enwrapped  him, 

And  the  wonted  sternness  faded 

From  his  face,  now  wan  and  haggard. 

Tossing  in  a  fitful  slumber, 

He  awakened,  shouting  wildly, 

Calling  by  their  names  his  wardens; 

With  halloo  and  hunter's  signals 

Urging  on  his  dogs  in  anger: 

"Wille,  seize  the  monkish  vermin! 

Seek  the  peasants — monks  and  peasants! 

Seek  'em!     They  deserve  no  better!  ' 

And  again,  the  night  watch  waning, 

Cold  and  sudden  sweat  perspiring 

Beaded  on  his  high,  white  forehead; 

Low  he  moaned  and  clutched  his  covering. 

Hard  oppressed  for  breath  and  gasping, 

As  in  mighty  throes  he  struggled, 

Through  his  breast's  convulsive  heaving 

Strained  the  words:  "Ha!     Wode!     Wode!' 

All  in  vain  the  careful  nursing 

Of  Wulfhilde  and  Agnete, 

And  their  scanty  lore  of  physic ; 

All  in  vain  the  zeal  of  Gerhard, 

Spending  weary  hours  beside  him ; 

And  the  Huntsman  knew  within  him 

That  relentless  Death  drew  nearer. 


1 68         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Wulfhild',  haunted  by  a  terror 
Lest  her  father  die  unshriven, 
With  the  Church's  ban  upon  him, 
Rode  forth  early  with  old  Bruno 
To  the  Walkenrieden  Convent. 
She  would  see  this  stern-souled  Abbot 
And  upon  her  knees  implore  him 
To  absolve  her  stricken  father. 
All  her  wealth  of  patrimony 
She  would  willingly  relinquish 
And  convey  it  to  the  Convent. 
For  herself  the  veil  was  destined, 
Since  the  world  would  be  but  empty 
When  her  last  support,  her  father, 
Like  her  dream  of  love  lay  buried. 

Brooding,  sorrowful  and  silent, 
Gerhard  watched  beside  his  master. 
"Come,  old  friend,  be  my  confessor!" 
Spoke  the  Count,  from  languor  rousing. 
'  When  I  die,  I  leave  behind  me — 
If  he  be  among  the  living — 
One  who  bears  me  mortal  hatred ; 
One  I  've  sought  not,  always  hoping 
Nevermore  to  cross  his  pathway. 
But  if  thou  should'st  ever  find  him, 
Tell  him  half  the  wrongs  I  'm  charged  with 
He  must  take  upon  his  conscience, 
For  they  were  the  fruit  and  harvest 


The  Wild  Huntsman         169 

Of  the  seed  that  in  the  furrow 

Of  our  youth  in  sin  we  scattered. 

He  is  Egon,  Count  of  Hordorf ; 

On  his  scutcheon  is  a  boar's  head, 

And  his  helm  bears  horns  of  bison. 

We  were  oath-bound  friends  from  boyhood, 

But  we  both  set  our  affections 

Upon  Hildegard  of  Warberg. 

Thus  with  one  as  with  the  other, 

'T  was  our  love  that  wrought  disaster. 

On  the  battled  field  of  Dornach, 

When  our  crowding  foes  beset  us, 

I  forsook  him  in  his  peril; 

But  he  found  his  day  of  vengeance. 

Long  I  thought  him  slain  in  combat, 

Yet  he  lived  to  seek  my  Countess — 

Planned  a  secret  meeting  with  her 

In  the  forest — Gerhard  !     Gerhard  ! 

Ever  since,  e'en  now,  I  'm  tortured 

By  a  mad  desire  for  knowledge — 

Was  her  lily  heart  unspotted? 

"Prostrate,  preyed  upon  by  sorrow, 
Flowerlike,  she  drooped  and  faded, 
And  in  dying  whispers  told  me 
Egon  lived  and  that  she  loved  him. 
Then  her  lips  were  closed  forever. 
O,  the  torments  doubt  inflicted! 
Did  her  fever  turn  to  madness 


i7°         The  Wild  Huntsman 

As  the  hand  of  Death  lay  on  her? 
Fearful  thoughts  and  dread  suspicions 
Drove  me,  peaceless,  from  the  castle, 
O'er  the  mountains,  through  the  valleys, 
Hoping  still  to  wrest  the  answer 
From  the  wind,  perchance,  that  ranges 
Like  me,  wildly  through  the  forest. 
Hence  I  hunted,  hunted,  hunted, 
As  if  in  the  hearts  of  victims, 
Fallen  by  my  spear  or  arrow, 
I  could  find  the  secret  hidden. 
Madly  roving,  never  sated, 
Chase  and  hunt  must  I  continue, 
Else  I  perish  and  thereafter 
Still  go  hunting,  ever  hunting — 
Sorrow's  flood  whelms  o'er  me  dying: 
Wulfhild',  lone  and  unprotected, 
Ne'er  will  wed  the  man  I  chose  her, 
Knightly  Albrecht  of  Loseinen — 
Waldtraut,  fled,  is  my  own  daughter. 
While  my  lost  wife's  troth  suspecting, 
Saw  I  Holthorp  in  the  forest, 
And,  enamored  of  her  beauty, 
Oft  I  sought  and  oft  I  met  her; 
Yet  I  loved  her  but  to  leave  her. 
Volrat,  her  rejected  suitor, 
Then  she  wed,  but  soon  she  sickened, 
And  the  year's  end  saw  her  perished. 
Volrat  threatens  me  his  vengeance ; 


The  Wild  Huntsman         171 

Even  now  I  see  him  coming 

With  a  ruthless  band  of  peasants, 

And  already  hear  him  thunder 

At  the  gate,  his  firebrand  swinging. 

But  I  can  nor  save,  nor  shield  you — 

Wulfhild'!    Waldtraut!     I  must  leave  you! 

"  Gerhard,  ever  true  and  faithful, 

For  one  promise  more  in  fealty 

Clasp  my  hand !     Swear  thou'lt  fulfil  it! 

Narrow  is  the  grave,  good  Gerhard, 

Of  impenetrable  darkness; 

Depths  exist  there  never  lighted 

And  grim  Death  guards  well  his  secrets. 

Think'st  thou  there  are  forests  yonder, 

Stocked  with  beasts  of  game  for  hunting? 

Thou  shalt  bury  me,  old  comrade; 

Thou  and  Bruno,  ye  two  only. 

But  upon  no  bier  ye  '11  place  me! 

No!     For  me,  I  '11  not  be  coffined! 

In  the  forest  I  '11  be  bedded 

Where  the  storm  raves — where  the  tree-tops 

O'er  my  head  will  sough  and  rustle; 

Where  the  noble  deer  stalks  proudly, 

And  the  wolf  roves,  there  bestow  me 

In  a  grave  your  hands  shall  fashion — 

But  no  coffin !     Let  the  oak's  roots 

Through  my  heart  strike  down  unhindered. 

Clad  in  leathern  hose  and  doublet 


172         The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  my  bow  and  horn  ye  '11  arm  me; 

Thus,  with  boughs  of  green  fresh  covered, 

I  shall  sleep  as  fits  a  hunter! 

When  thou  know'st  me  dead,  make  ready; 

Then  next  morning  ere  the  daybreak, 

Lead  forth  Wunsch  and  bind  me  on  him. 

Firmly  seated  in  my  saddle, 

As  I  rode  forth  into  battle, 

As  I  rode  at  chase  and  hunting, 

Will  I  ride  on  to  my  burial ! 

High  above  the  Raven  Ledges, 

Lay  me  'neath  the  turf,  but  never 

Let  the  spot  be  known  to  others; 

And  in  lieu  of  monkish  prayers 

Blare  the  bugle  loud  above  me ! 

There  I  '11  lie  until  the  summons 

To  the  hunter's  great  hereafter, 

But  instead  of  Doomsday  trumpet 

May  a  joyful  horn  awake  me ! 

Gerhard,  give  thy  oath  upon  it, 

Thou  wilt  do  as  I  have  bidden." 

Burning  tears  rolled  down  the  withered, 

Grizzled-bearded  face  of  Gerhard, 

Kneeling  by  his  master's  bedside. 

With  a  solemn,  low  "I  swear  it ' 

Was  the  rueful  answer  given. 

"It  is  well!     Thou  may'st  now  leave  me! ' 

Bade  the  Count,  his  eyelids  drooping, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         173 

And  he  lay,  as  if  in  slumber, 

Till  the  warm,  moist  tongue  of  Wille 

Fondly  licked  his  wasted  fingers; 

Mutely  stood  the  dog  beside  him, 

With  one  heavy  paw  uplifted ; 

Two  great  eyes  were  raised  in  question. 

"Faithful  one!  "  the  Count  said  softly, 

"Dear,  trustworthy  old  companion! 

Speak  to  me!     What  would'st  thou  ask  me? 

We  must  part.     Where  I  am  going 

Thou  canst  follow  me  no  longer. 

No  more  can  we  three  together, 

Thou  and  Wunsch  and  I,  go  hunting 

Through  the  wood  in  wind  and  weather, 

Thou  my  daring  scout  and  leader! 

Dost  thou  see  this  other  hunter, 

Death,  the  grim  and  ancient  marksman, 

Come  to  bait  me  in  the  darkness? 

Sure  's  his  aim.      He  never  misses. 

Farewell,  Wille!     Friend  so  loyal! 

Once  again  be  thou  my  escort 

On  this  last  ride  through  the  forest, 

Slow  and  solemn  though  its  progress." 

And  his  sunken  cheek  he  rested 

On  the  huge  head  of  the  mastiff. 

Long  in  spirit  strove  the  Abbot, 
Obdurate,  refusing  audience 
To  Wulfhilde,  broken-hearted, 


174         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Till  Johannes  hastening  to  him 

Bade  him  see  in  Hild'gard's  daughter 

Hild'gard's  self.     Then  moved,  o'ermastered 

By  the  visioned  dead,  transfigured, 

Reincarnate  in  the  maiden, 

Swift  compassion  came  upon  him. 

As  the  falling  darkness  deepened, 

Back  to  Treseburg  he  journeyed 

With  Wulfhilde  and  her  escort, 

And  his  train  of  monks  and  servants. 

In  the  quivering  heat  the  cloud  heaps 

Gathered,  piling  on  the  mountains, 

In  the  calm  before  the  tempest. 

When  within  the  dim-lit  chamber 

Paulus  stepped  close  to  the  bedside, 

Piercing,  searching  deep,  their  glances 

Crossed,  as  sword  with  sword  swift  flashes. 

On  the  lips  of  Hackelberend, 

Wrathful  at  the  apparition 

Of  the  monk's  black  cowl  and  vestment, 

Died  the  word,  but  wildly  stared  he 

At  the  features  of  the  Abbot, 

As  if  dawning  memories  faintly 

Rose  within  him,  dire  and  dreadful. 

Fiercely  beat  the  heart  of  Paulus, 

Nor  found  he  the  word  befitting. 

Mortal  foes  they  faced  each  other. 

Through  the  tower's  darkened  chamber 

Lightning  darted  and  the  Bergfried 


The  Wild  Huntsman  175 

Shook  with  deafening  peals  of  thunder. 

"Dost  thou  know  me,  Hackelberend?  " 

Asked  with  trembling  voice  the  Abbot. 

"Egon  Hordorf !  "  came  the  answer 

From  the  Count,  his  lips  scarce  moving, 

And  his  eyes,  aglare  with  hatred, 

Starting  from  their  sunken  sockets, 

As  with  wave  of  hand  he  motioned 

All  to  leave  except  the  Abbot. 

"Then  't  is  true,  he  lives!      O  Hild'gard  !  " 

Breathing  hard,  and  shaken,  shuddering, 

He  demanded:  "What?     What  wilt  thou? 

Is  thy  vengeance  still  unsated 

By  her  murder?     Now  must  needs  thou 

Here  my  last  few  hours  embitter, 

Since  I  lack  the  strength  to  slay  thee, 

Lying  helpless  on  my  death-bed? ': 

"Hours  weighed  against  a  lifetime! ' 

Paulus  cried  in  solemn  anger, 

"Could  thy  last  hours  ever  cancel 

All  the  woe  thy  treachery  brought  me? 

Leave  the  dead  in  peace,  for  other, 

Weightier  business  brings  me  to  thee! ': 

"Egon,"  and  the  Count's  voice  faltered, 

"  With  the  many  dead  that  covered 

Dornach's  bloody  field  of  battle, 

I,  in  sooth,  had  cause  to  count  thee; 

For  when  we,  at  first  defeated, 

Rallied  and  again  rode  forward, 


176         The  Wild  Huntsman 

With  the  slain  I  found  thee  lifeless!  ' 
"  Yea,  and  happy  at  the  riddance 
Of  a  rival,  thou  didst  leave  me, 
When  beset  by  hostile  halberds ! 
And  again,  when  I  lay  bleeding, 
Didst  thou  speed  away  unmindful 
Of  thy  friend,  and  e'en  the  service 
Due  his  body.      Home  to  Hild'gard 
Didst  thou  fly,  to  hope  e'er  clinging 
That,  thy  perfidy  succeeding, 
I  had  perished  with  the  many." 
Flushed  with  fury,  Hackelberend 
Strove  to  answer  his  accuser, 
But  in  impotence  sank  backward. 

Whistling  winds  shrilled  through  the  darkness; 
Floods  of  rain  beat  at  the  casements, 
And  the  night  was  rent  with  thunder. 
Mustering  strength,  the  Count  demanded : 
"What  has  caused  thee  now  to  seek  me? 
What  dark  purpose  brings  thee  hither?  " 

'T  is  to  grant  thee  absolution," 
Gravely  said  the  Abbot  Paulus. 
'Thou  a  priest?     Thou!     Egon  Hordorf? 
In  the  Devil's  name  betake  thee 
To  that  other  saintly  idler, 
Who  in  Walkenrieden  fattens! 
I  ask  not  thy  curse  or  blessing!  " 
"Hackelberend,  here,  before  thee, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         177 

Stands  he  whom  thou  now  revilest, 
Paulus,  Walkenrieden's  Abbot!  " 
' '  Thou  ?    What !    Thou  the  meddling  Abbot 
Who  our  hunting  strove  to  hinder? 
Well  didst  thou  contrive,  thou  trickster! 
I  admire  thy  craft  to  borrow 
Heaven's  cloak  for  thy  dissembling!" 
And  the  Count's  wild,  jeering  laughter 
Chimed  in  with  the  rattling  thunder. 
"Thou  hast,  like  the  wolf  in  sheep's  pelt, 
'Neath  a  cowl  slunk  round  and  striven 
To  outwit  my  wife  and  dupe  her; 
Thus  on  me  to  wreak  thy  vengeance!  ' 
"  'T  was  but  once  that  I  met  Hild'gard  ; 
Soon  thereafter  death  released  her! ' 
"  O,  I  want  the  truth  !     Thy  oath  must- 
Stop  !     Too  much  I  dread  the  answer, 
Nor  can  oath  of  priest  be  trusted !  " 
"I  came  here  to  bury  rancor, 
Grant  forgiveness  and  absolve  thee 
From  thy  sins,  for  it  is  urgent 
That  thou  make  thy  peace  with  Heaven ; 
Thy  allotted  time  is  fleeting!  " 
"Half  my  sins,"  the  Knight  retorted, 
"Thou  must  carry  on  thy  conscience, 
For  't  is  thou  who  hast  provoked  them. 
As  for  Heaven,  I  renounce  it 
To  you  worthy  priests  and  abbots! 
Be  it  yours  to  wrangle  over, 


178         The  Wild  Huntsman 

As  has  ever  been  your  custom ! 

Know'st  thou  aught  of  Heaven's  kingdom, 

Egon  Hordorf,  learned  prelate? 

If  there  's  hunting  in  its  forests 

I  '11  accept  thy  hokus-pokus. 

Show  me  thou  art  skilled  in  priestcraft, 

And  by  thy  smooth  lies  and  cunning 

Aid  thy  friend  to  find  an  entrance 

Through  a  rear  gate  into  Heaven ! 

But  there  must  be  woods  and  hunting! ' 

"Heed'st  thou  not  the  Lord  Almighty 

Speaking  in  His  voice  of  thunder, 

As  He  summons  thee  to  judgment?  " 

"Come!     Announce  me!     Say,  a  hunter 

Nobly  horsed,  demands  admittance. 

All  the  hunting  rights  in  Heaven 

He  would  lease  for  life  eternal. 

He  'd  agree  fresh  game  to  furnish 

For  the  Lord's  supernal  table, 

With  its  seats  for  saints  and  angels, 

And  you  priests,  if  you  're  admitted; 

But  what  else  there  is  hereafter, 

Bliss  of  soul,  delight  and  rapture, 

Let  Him  keep  to  spice  His  drink  with!  ' 

Through  the  night  again  flashed  lightning; 

Ghastly  grew  the  Count's  wan  features, 

As  for  breath  he  gasped  and  struggled, 

While  the  thundering  tempest  bellowed. 

"Pray !    O,  pray  !     Thine  end  approaches !  ' 


The  Wild  Huntsman         181 

Paulus  urged  with  cross  uplifted. 

"Pray?     For  what?    To  whom?    Thou  ranter! 

I  '11  not  pray,  but  hunt.      Ho!     Hunting! 

Hear'st  thou?     Chase  and  hunt  forever! 

Yet,  perchance — yea,  here  's  a  prayer: 

'Mighty  God!     O,  deign  to  grant  me 

That  in  Thy  celestial  forest 

Through  eternities  unnumbered 

I  may  revel,  revel  hunting! 

Mark  my  words  and  heed  me,  Ancient ! 

Or  from  Thy  high  throne  I  '11  shoot  Thee, 

As  erewhile  Thy  Son's  frail  image 

From  the  cross  I  dashed  to  atoms! 

This  the  notice  that  I  serve  Thee ! 

This  the  Amen  to  my  worship  ! ' 

Art  thou  now  contented,  bigot?" 

"Lord,  forgive  him  !  "  cried  the  Abbot, 

"  He  is  mad  with  death's  wild  frenzy!  " 

"There  is  naught  He  need  forgive  me! 

It  is  He  who  needs  forgiveness, 

As  with  His  dull  death  He  balks  me 

Of  my  sport  within  the  forest. 

Hunt  I  will!     Will  hunt,  I  tell  thee! 

Yea,  though  damned,  I  '11  hunt  forever!' 

Paulus  turned  and  cried  in  anger: 

"Ended  is  my  long  forbearance! 

Be  thou  damned,  then,  damned  forever! 

And  go  hunt  until  the  Doomsday! ' 

"Thank  thee  for  thy  blessing,  Pauius! 


1 82         The  Wild  Huntsman 

As  the  Lord's  anointed,  surely 
Thou  canst  intercede  and  help  me!  " 
Hackelberend  mocked  and  shivered. 
"Hunting,  hunt  for  aye  and  ever! 
Hal-loo!    Ho!    Ho-ho !  "     Half  upright 
He  had  risen,  when  the  chamber 
Burst  aflame  with  dreadful  lightning 
And  the  walls  of  granite  trembled 
With  the  crashing  roar  of  thunder. 
'Wode!     Ho!"  cried  Hackelberend, 
And  fell  dead  upon  his  pillow. 


XII 


To  the  Grave 


ON  fallow  deer  skins  softly  bedded, 
Attired  and  armed  as  for  the  chase, 
Half  covered  o'er  with  twined  myrtles, 

Reposed  the  last  of  all  his  race. 
He  firmly  clasped,  as  were  he  living, 

His  cross-bow,  oft  with  prowess  borne; 
The  hunting  knife  beside  him  rested, 

And  on  his  right  his  ivory  horn. 
A  rare  and  lustrous  jewel  sparkled 

Upon  the  golden  chain  it  crowned ; 
A  wreath  of  freshly  gathered  oak  leaves 

About  the  silent  head  was  wound. 
Thus  lay  the  prince  of  chase  and  forest, 

The  hunter  brave,  whom  naught  withstood, 
Who,  in  free  Nature's  breath  rejoicing, 

With  willing  band  had  roved  the  wood. 
His  dark,  stern  eyes  were  closed  forever 

That  flashed  as  if  with  fire  aglow, 
When,  searching  sky  or  tangled  thicket, 

183 


184         The  Wild  Huntsman 

He  flung  the  spear  or  drew  the  bow. 
Upon  his  furrowed  brow  there  struggled 

Grim  Death  in  his  resistless  might, 
With  ominous  and  hopeless  terror 

Of  unappeased  and  horrid  Night. 
No  sweet  repose  here  reigned  supremely, 

No  new-lit  glory  found  a  place, 
That  told  of  blessedness  hereafter, 

On  this  unyielding  marble  face. 
Upon  this  form,  to  dust  returning, 

Stood  out  relentless  force  of  will, 
And,  mirrored  in  those  rigid  features, 

A  burning  passion  smoldered  still. 
Around  the  mouth  that  scoffed  at  Heaven 

There  lingered  sullen  scorn  unchanged, 
As  if  in  anger  dumb  yet  vowing 

On  Death  himself  to  be  avenged. 
Thus  lay  he  in  the  tower  chamber, 

And  Wille,  truest  of  his  kind, 
Crouched  near  to  hold  a  solemn  death-watch, 

Nor  call  nor  chiding  did  he  mind. 
The  Abbot  tarried  in  the  castle, 

For  he  was  loath  to  leave  Wulfhild', 
And,  full  of  pity  for  the  orphan, 

Her  grief  with  soothing  counsel  stilled. 
A  trusty  friend,  he  'd  be  her  escort, 

When  low  the  Count  lay  in  his  grave, 
To  lead  her  to  the  maiden's  chapter, 

That  for  her  peace  best  promise  gave. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         185 

He  spoke  not  of  the  curse  inflicted 

Upon  her  father  ere  he  died; 
Agnete,  though,  had  slyly  listened 

And  heard  the  blessing  said  to  guide 
Their  master  past  the  gate  of  Heaven 

Into  the  woeful  place  below ; 
And  by  her  tongue  once  fairly  started 

The  secret  was  like  tracks  in  snow. 
One  softly  told  it  to  another, 

Who  deemed  it  true  and  told  again, 
Till  like  the  wind  it  swiftly  circled 

Afar  o'er  mountain,  dale  and  plain. 

So  came  the  night  of  his  last  mounting; 

And  ere  the  birds  are  slumber-freed, 
Within  the  castle  court  the  hostler 

Stands  ready  by  the  saddled  steed. 
O  Wunsch !     Thou  oft  hast  pawed  the  cobbles 

Impatiently  before  the  ride, 
While  waiting  for  thy  master's  greeting, 

The  music  of  his  spur-clad  stride. 
How  often  hast  thou  borne  him  safely, 

Impetuous  as  the  North  Wind  free! 
The  bridges  thundered  in  the  valley, 

Along  thy  track  shook  every  tree ! 
To-day  he  mounts  a  silent  rider, 

And  slow  his  pace;  thou  'It  feel  no  spur! 
O,  bear  him  gently  !     Short  the  distance  ! 

It  is  but  to  his  sepulchre! 


1 86         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  court  is  lit  by  blazing  torches, 

That  set  the  Bergfried  all  aglow ; 
Around  are  ranged  the  castle  inmates, 

Whose  downcast  looks  deep  sorrow  show. 
By  two,  the  eldest  in  his  service, 

The  Count  is  carried  through  the  door; 
He  who  could  vault  within  the  saddle 

Is  lifted  up  to  ride  once  more. 
The  hostler  holds  the  stirrup,  renders 

What  aid  the  helpless  form  demands; 
The  bridle  safely  bound,  he  passes 

The  reins  into  the  rigid  hands. 
They  tie  him  firmly,  and  Wunsch  shivers, 

Yet  quiet  in  his  place  he  stands. 
Does  not  that  ghastly  face  seem  living 

Illumined  by  the  burning  brands? 
All  's  hushed.     Unbroken  is  the  silence. 

The  waiting  mourners  glance  around, 
But  Paulus  speaks  no  priestly  blessing — 

Wulfhilde's  sobs  the  only  sound. 
Then,  baring  his  gray  locks,  the  falconer 

Pronounces  simply :  "Huntsman,  Hail!' 
With  nodding  head  the  stallion  answers; 

The  hunters  murmur:    "Huntsman,  Hail!' 

Then  slowly  winding  through  the  portal 
They  move  adown  the  darkened  vale. 

His  sunken  eyes  fixed  on  the  bridle 

The  Count  still  leads  them,  stark  and  pale. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         187 

Night  wanderer  of  a  wakeless  slumber, 

The  grave's  long  dream  enwraps  him  now; 
His  mettled  steed  no  longer  thrills  him ; 

In  vain  the  forest  whispers  low. 
The  lurid  glare  from  smoking  torches 

On  looming  tree  and  shrub  is  shed, 
And  mid  the  playing  lights  and  shadows 

They  tread  their  pathway  with  the  dead. 
But  Gerhard  soon  disbands  his  escort, 

And  he  and  Bruno  wend  alone, 
Attendant  on  the  silent  horseman, 

To  Wille's  low  and  piteous  moan. 
Though  night  still  broods  o'er  mead  and  wood- 
land, 

The  undimmed  stars  all  westering  fly; 
A  mist  o'er  glen  and  lowland  hovers 

And,  as  they  pass,  floats  wanly  by. 
Within  its  rolling  masses  marshalled, 

In  shadowy  columns  on  the  mere, 
For  grim  pursuit  of  horse  and  rider, 

Vague,  shifting  charnel  shapes  appear; 
They  stretch  along  in  endless  legions, 

And  on  they  surge,  a  spectral  wave : 
Spear-flingers,  warriors,  hunt  companions, 

A  phantom  escort  to  the  grave. 
The  gray-horsed  giant  is  not  with  them, 

Nor  is  his  consort  in  her  place, 
But  all  the  countless  forms,  unlesscned, 

The  Knight  had  met  in  his  mad  chase, 


1 88         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Flit  on  in  streaming  files  to  join  them ; 

Their  ghostly  faces  light  with  glee, 
And  fill  with  fiendish,  mute  exulting, 

Yet  naught  but  mist  the  wardens  see. 
Persistently  the  spirits  follow, 

As  if  they  were  upon  their  way 
To  spy  the  secret  place  of  burial, 

And  vanish  at  the  break  of  day. 

Aloft,  upon  a  jutting  hillside, 

Whence  seas  of  crowding  trees  are  seen- 
Their  crests  on  crests  continuous  rising, 

High  scaling  to  the  blue  serene — 
And,  far  below,  the  Bode  glistening 

Through  golden  cornfields,  silver  white, 
And  steeples  beckoning  in  the  distance, 

Above  a  rugged  granite  height, 
There  is  the  grave.     Upon  its  grasses 

Primeval  oaks  their  shadows  throw, 
And  towering  o'er  them  all,  gigantic, 

One  mighty  tree  in  lordly  show 
Uprears  his  monument  befitting. 

Perchance  more  ancient  than  his  race, 
It  mourns  the  dead  and  fearless  hunter — 

The  guardian  of  his  resting-place; 
Its  roots  will  softly  twine  around  him, 

And  soon  to  his  dark  cell  convey, 
Repeating  still  in  gentle  murmurs, 

Whate'er  the  winds  may  have  to  say. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         189 

'T  will  waken  with  each  spring's  returning, 

And  don  its  greenery  anew; 
Within  will  lodge  the  feathered  songsters, 

The  azure  sky  a-glimmering  through. 
Its  sheltering  boughs  will  arch  above  him 

To  screen  him  from  the  summer  sun, 
And  to  his  bed  with  summer's  waning 

Its  leaves  will  flutter,  one  by  one. 

A  thousand  trees  look  on  in  witness, 

Like  grim,  gray  shadows  hither  led  ; 
They  bow  their  heads,  with  awe-struck  whispers, 

To  hail  the  coming  of  the  dead. 
At  last  beneath  the  sullen  rider, 

The  rooty  soil  gives  hollow  sound, 
And  Wunsch's  hoof-beats  sharply  rustle 

The  leaves  upon  the  littered  ground. 
The  rocky,  fissured  brow  now  rises 

From  shrouding  gloom  into  the  light, 
But  dark  the  lowland  shadows  linger, 

Maintaining  still  the  reign  of  night. 
A  fearsome  moaning  fills  the  distance; 

The  wind  plays  with  the  dead  man's  hair; 
Stout-hearted  Gerhard  sees  the  omen — 

His  frighted  eyes  in  wonder  stare; 
He  thinks  distorted,  leering  faces 

Malignly  gaze  from  out  the  wood ; 
On  gnarly  trunks  and  crooked  branches 

He  sees  the  hellish,  goblin  brood. 


i9°         The  Wild  Huntsman 

But  now  a  stag  cries  in  the  thicket, 

As  down  it  flies  to  seek  the  stream; 
And  at  the  welcome  sound  the  hunter 

Awakes  as  from  a  hideous  dream. 
The  archer  spreads  the  gathered  branches, 

And  bearing  reverently  their  dead, 
In  mantle  wrapped,  with  bow  and  bugle, 

They  couch  him  on  his  leafy  bed. 
The  handfuls  three  of  earth  they  scatter, 

Then  fill  the  grave,  and  o'er  it  lay 
Soft  mosses  green,  and  twining  ivy, 

And  kneeling  down,  a  blessing  say. 
The  falconer  rises  from  the  grave-side, 

Puts  to  his  lips  the  hunting  horn, 
And  from  the  mountain  peaks  re-echoed 

A  ringing  ha-la-li  is  borne. 
But  as  they  pass  the  green-aisled  columns, 

And  lead  the  stallion,  homeward  bound, 
A  long  and  piteous  howl  o'ertakes  them, 

Ear-piercing,  from  the  new-made  mound. 
It  is  from  Wille,  desolate  mourner, 

His  master  and  his  friend  lies  there; 
For  love  of  him  the  noble  mastiff 

With  lamentation  fills  the  air. 
No  urgent  call  nor  gentle  coaxing 

Will  either  move  or  comfort  him ; 
He  cowers  down,  his  fate  awaiting, 

And  tarries  while  his  eyes  grow  dim. 
In  grateful  service  to  his  master 


The  Wild  Huntsman         19: 

He  had  devoted  every  breath, 
So  ended  he  where  they  had  parted, 
Unflinching,  faithful  unto  death. 

Day  breaks  anew  and  all  its  splendor 

Upon  a  gladsome  world  is  spent ; 
Above  the  wreath  of  green-clad  mountains 

Spreads  out  the  blue,  celestial  tent. 
Lone,  on  a  rocky  crest  uplifted, 

Where  sunshine  beats  and  tempests  rave, 
There  lies  above  the  restful  valley 

The  forest-guarded  hunter's  grave. 


13 


XIII 

The  Storming  of  the  Castle 

CRISP  and  chill  the  air  of  autumn 
Steals  upon  the  shores  of  summer; 
Balmy  zephyrs  play  no  longer 
Through  the  flowing,  billowy  foliage; 
Boughs  are  tossed  by  whirring  breezes, 
And  the  limbs  creak,  snap  and  clatter, 
As  the  shuddering  winds  drive  through  them. 
Whirling  leaves,  frost-browned  and  crinkled, 
Through  the  air  drift  scurrying  downward, 
And  the  shrubs,  smooth-stemmed  and  barren, 
Blaze  with  clustered,  scarlet  berries. 

It  was  eve,  and  fires  glimmered 
In  the  valley  of  the  Bode. 
Round  the  flames  lounged  lawless  peasants, 
Roasting  kine  and  calves,  late  pillaged 
From  the  Convent  Himmelgarten, 
Quaffing  wine — the  monks'  rare  vintage — 
Throwing  dice  for  sacred  treasure, 

194 


The  Wild  Huntsman         195 

Singing  loud  and  ribald  ditties. 
All  the  vale  below  the  castle 
Was  aswarm  with  bristling  spear-heads, 
Arquebuses,  swords  and  maces. 
Peaceful  scythes,  and  picks,  and  mattocks, 
Swung  by  oaken-fisted  rustics 
In  their  toilsome  life  of  tilling, 
Now  were  turned  to  deadly  weapons.       * 
Loud  the  drum  and  fife  had  sounded 
In  each  village  through  the  valley ; 
Bells  had  rung  alarm  and  summons, 
Calling  men  from  every  cottage — 
Bondsmen,  miners,  free-born  peasants, 
Hungering,  ill-conditioned  people, 
Strangely  clad — a  motley  rabble. 
Here  came  one  in  tattered  smockfrock, 
Knightly  armor  decked  another, 
There  a  cassock,  patched  and  faded, 
Here  a  doublet  and  slashed  breeches, 
Now  a  helmet, — now  a  bonnet. 
Each  new  troop  of  eager  comrades 
Was  received  with  lifted  beakers 
By  the  pushing,  swaying  masses, 
And  a  rousing,  jeering  greeting: 
"Welcome  here,  ye  fellow-toilers! 
Welcome,  men  of  Hunger  Valley, 
Beggar  Town  and  Never  Harvest! 
Have  ye  come  to  warm  the  Barons? 
We  will  give  them  such  a  roasting 


196         The  Wild  Huntsman 

As  will  scorch  the  Blessed  Angels, 
Perched  upon  the  arching  rainbow." 
Where  the  banded  Leaguers  serried, 
In  the  breeze  a  banner  fluttered 
With  a  strange  device  emblazoned. 
On  its  folds  a  kneeling  peasant 
Wept  beneath  Christ's  woeful  passion ; 
Pope  and  Emperor,  too,  were  pictured, 
And,  above  them  all,  the  League  Shoe. 
Bertram  Volrat,  as  the  chieftain 
Of  this  crowding  throng  of  rebels, 
Proudly  bore  a  gleaming  halberd, 
At  his  side  a  broadsword  dangling, 
On  his  head  a  battered  morion. 
Gloomy  moved  he,  fierce,  determined, 
And  his  word  found  quick  compliance. 

Now  he  ordered  that  the  drum-beat 
Call  his  leaders  to  a  council ; 
And  to  his  assembled  comrades 
Volrat  spoke:  "Your  summons  sent  I 
To  the  castle  gate,  demanding 
That  they  peacefully  surrender, 
Offering  all  but  Hackelberend 
Free  withdrawal  and  safe  conduct. 
They  defy  us!     Hence  at  sunrise 
Do  we  storm  the  damned  rook's  nest !  ' 
"Captain,"  rose  a  voice,  "  't  is  rumored 
That  the  Count  is  dead  and  buried!  ' 


The  Wild  Huntsman         197 

"By  God's  beard,  I  '11  not  believe  it! 

If  the  Devil  had  him  safely, 

They 'd  surrender  !     Here!     Ask  Hartman  ! 

It  was  he  who  bore  the  message, 

And  who  saw  him  in  his  armor, 

Striding  up  and  down  the  bulwarks ! 

Nay!"  and  Volrat  shouted  fiercely, 

"Common  men  to  him  are  nothing; 

Therefore  nothing  shall  we  grant  him — 

Naught  but  death, — and  here  I  warn  ye: 

Let  none  dare  to  maim  or  slay  him ! 

Mine  is  he — by  right  of  justice! 

Ye  from  Wendefurt  and  Stiege, 

Altenbrook  and  Hasselfelde, 

Who  most  suffer  his  oppression, 

Be  the  first  to  storm,— I  '11  lead  ye!  " 

Waldtraut,  who  had  joined  her  father, 

When  from  Treseburg  she  vanished, 

And  now  hovered  ever  near  him, 

Vainly  sought  to  stay  his  purpose. 

Tears  she  shed,  and  wild  entreaties, 

All  were  lost,  like  plaint  of  song  bird 

When  the  storm  raves  in  the  mountains. 

Gloom  held  sway  within  the  castle. 
Gerhard,  on  the  drear  returning 
With  the  archer  from  the  burial, 
Had  scarce  reached  the  court  in  safety, 
When  the  preying  peasant  vultures 


198         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Swooped  upon  the  silent  valley. 
Paulus,  Albrecht  and  Wulfhilde 
In  the  Bergfried  sat  for  counsel, 
Low-voiced,  solemn, — till  the  falconer, 
Roughly  bursting  in  upon  them, 
Brought  them  warning  of  their  peril. 
Quickly  from  his  seat  sprang  Albrecht : 
"Draw  the  bridge  and  bar  the  tower- gate! 
Every  man  prepare  for  combat !  ' 
At  the  words,  the  Abbot  Paulus 
Rose  and  strode  across  the  chamber, 
His  blue  eyes  with  fire  flashing. 
"Hold!"  he  cried,  "I  am  the  elder! 
'T  is  for  me  to  take  command  here! ' 
"You?     Your    Reverence?'      stammered    Al- 
brecht, 
"Honored  be  your  robe  and  office, 
Yet  for  war  they  're  illy  suited!  " 
"Think  you  so?"  the  Abbot  shouted, 
"Know,  bold  youth,  that  he,  who  knighthood 
Once  resigned  for  holier  orders, 
Can  resume  his  knightly  standard 
When  the  hour  of  need  arises ! 
Knew  I  not  the  joy  of  warfare? — 
Thrilling  years  spent  in  the  saddle? 
Joy  of  combat?     Joy  of  struggle? 
Albrecht,  I  am  of  thy  station  ! 
Once  the  friend  and  sworn  companion 
Of  the  Count  Hans  Hackelberend, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         199 

Many  a  day  I  fought  beside  him 

In  the  bloody  Swabian  battles ! 

I  am  Egon,  Count  of  Hordorf !  " 

In  amazement  Gerhard  started, 

And  with  quavering  lips  addressed  him : 

"You,  sir!     You  are  Count  of  Hordorf? 

Then  for  you  I  have  a  message, 

That  my  lord,  as  he  lay  dying, 

On  my  oath,  bade  me  deliver." 

"I  have  seen  him,  Gerhard.     Silence!" 

And  the  Abbot,  smiling  grimly, 

Gave  commandment  to  the  falconer: 

"Bring  me  forth  thy  master's  armor; 

Bring  his  sword  and  shield  and  helmet  ;— 

That  in  his  own  casque  and  buckler 

I  may  guard  my  foeman's  castle!  " 

Quick  of  cross  and  cowl  divested, 

Clasped  in  steel,  engirthed  in  armor, 

Paulus  stood, — the  monk  forgotten — 

High-born  knight  and  valiant  warrior 

Of  the  days  of  Maximilian. 

Gazing  on  him,  half  in  reverence, 

Half  exultant,  loud  they  hailed  him, 

And  each  heart  new-thrilled  with  courage. 

Straight  the  clanging  gate  was  bolted ; 

Arms  were  placed,  and  sheaves  of  arrows, 

All  along  the  inner  ramparts, 

While  the  warder  from  his  outlook 

Sharply  scanned  the  massed  invaders. 


200         The  Wild  Huntsman 

At  the  close  of  day  the  summons 
Was  in  terse,  rude  terms  rejected, — 
And  the  hush  of  night  fell  o'er  them. 
But  about  the  hill  beleaguered 
Baleful  campfires  starred  the  valley, 
Gleaming  in  the  palling  darkness 
Like  the  glittering  eyes  of  tigers, 
Crouching  low  in  hungry  circle 
Round  their  doomed  and  boding  victims. 

At  the  early  break  of  morning, 

O'er  the  fortress  flew  a  missile 

New  and  strange  in  all  the  region. 

Thunderlike,  and  with  an  echo 

From  the  mountains  loud  resounding, 

Crashed  a  shot.     The  Bergfried  shivered 

As  the  ball  of  hurtling  iron 

Struck  the  mortared  stones  and  tore  them, 

Falling  with  the  crumbling  rubbish. 

In  the  night  had  come  two  sakers, 

Dragged  o'er  trackless  roads  and  byways, 

And  at  dawn  the  chief  of  gunners 

Flung  his  greeting  at  the  castle. 

No  loud  roar  hurled  back  defiance: 

Treseburg  lay  all  defenceless 

At  the  mercy  of  the  cannon, 

For  the  Count  in  stormy  vehemence 

Had  proscribed  the  new-found  weapons. 

Strong  in  wrath  and  strong  in  numbers, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         201 

Strong  in  musketoons  and  gunners, 
Vantage  all  lay  with  the  Leaguers. 
In  this  pass  of  fateful  peril, 
Hackelberend's  dauntless  spirit 
Woke  within  his  gentle  daughter. 
Thrilled  for  desperate  deeds  of  daring, 
Forth  she  stood,  her  wistful  features 
Lighted  with  a  noble  purpose. 
Bold,  impassioned  words  broke  from  her: 
"Harken  ye,  my  friends  and  liegemen  ! 
I  shall  join  in  battle  with  you 
'Gainst  this  cruel  horde  of  peasants ! 
I  am  Wulfhild' — name  heroic — 
Slayer  of  the  savage  wolf-brood ! 
Early  did  my  father  teach  me 
Well  to  aim  the  hissing  arrow ; 
Yea, — the  glancing  spear  to  brandish. 
Oft  I  've  donned  the  steel-linked  corselet 
Worn  by  her,  my  great  ancestress, 
Whose  brave  deeds  still  live  in  story. 
Let  me  fight,  and  if  I  perish, 
Be  it,  so  it  be  among  you !  " 
All  aglow,  her  bosom  heaving, 
Straight  and  lithe,  she  stood  intrepid. 
Hordorf  spoke  with  quick  decision  : 
"Lady,  no!     Where  men  do  battle 
You  have  neither  place  nor  duty. 
Take  you  all  the  maids  and  women 
And  seek  shelter  in  the  Bcrgfried ; — 


202         The  Wild  Huntsman 

There  rely  on  help  from  Heaven, 
And  on  us,  whose  strength  unfaltering 
Will  beat  back  this  brutish  rabble!  " 
Wulfhild',  silent  now  and  wavering, 
Looked  at  Albrecht,  supplicating. 
Wonderingly  he  gazed  upon  her, 
Gentle  were  his  words  and  tender: 
"Wulfhild',  heed  him, — as  you  love  me!  " 
Hot  and  deep  the  mantling  crimson 
Flushed  her  throat  and  cheek  and  forehead ; 
Down  she  dropped  her  quivering  lashes, 
Swaying  with  a  sudden  faintness. 
"As  you  love  me !     As  you  love  me  !  ' 
Low  her  throbbing  heart  repeated, 
"Did  my  eyes  misprise  his  coldness? 
Has  his  love  thus  spoken  to  me?  " 
And  anew  hope  rose  within  her, 
Though  no  word  of  lip  betrayed  it, 
As  she  turned  and  joined  the  maidens. 

Once  again  a  knight  defender, 
Hordorf  gave  forth  hurried  orders, 
And  assigned  to  each  his  station, 
While  the  host  of  howling  peasants, 
Mad  with  lust  for  blood  and  booty, 
Swarming  forward,  swept  on  headlong. 
Balls  and  arrows  whirred  and  whistled, 
Raucous  jeers  and  shouts  defiant 
Rose  midst  crash  of  arquebuses. 


The  Wild  Huntsman         203 

In  the  vale  between  long  pauses 
Loud  the  iron  cannon  thundered. 
Little  space  for  daring  onslaught 
Did  the  causeway  dole  the  Leaguers, 
'Neath  the  grim  portcullised  tower. 
Halted  by  the  trench,  the  peasants 
Rolled  down  trunks  of  trees  and  boulders; 
Spaded  earth  piled  high  within  it, 
And,  to  gain  the  fatal  hillside, 
Men  below,  fast  rushing  forward, 
Men  above  drove  to  the  slaughter, 
Till  their  broken  ranks  were  daunted 
By  the  scores  of  dead  and  wounded. 
Back  they  fell,  their  sakers  muffled ; 
And  the  archers  on  the  ramparts 
Thought  the  fierce  assault  abandoned, 
Cooled  their  heated  brows,  and  resting 
Gulped  deep  from  the  rimed  tankards, 
That  the  monks  filled  in  the  cellar, 
Till  again  the  battle  thundered. 

Heedless  of  his  life,  the  collier 
Pressed  ahead,  unharmed  by  arrows, 
With  command,  rebuke,  example 
Urging  on  his  flagging  comrades, — 
Stinging  them  with  words  like  nettles — 
Cunningly  he  fanned  their  rancor. 
Forth  they  dashed  in  reckless  onset, 
Laying  hold  of  stones  and  branches, 


204         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Litter  and  the  battle's  debris, 
Thus  to  fill  the  moat  before  them ; 
Then  they  hurled  a  hail  of  missiles 
In  blind  fury  at  the  castle. 

Aiming  calmly,  the  beleaguered 

Rarely  missed  their  hated  targets, 

For  the  doughty  hunting  comrades, 

With  the  Abbot  and  his  servants, 

Were  adroit  and  clear-eyed  marksmen. 

Ludolf,  leaning  from  the  rampart, 

Suddenly  withdrew  his  arrow 

From  the  bowstring, — far  below  him, 

From  her  shelter  on  the  hillside, 

Waldtraut's  loving  eyes  had  called  him. 

"Ludolf!  "  Gerhard  cried  out  sharply, 

"Go  thou  to  yon  lower  turret, 

Where  thou  canst  not  see  thy  maiden, 

And  let  Velten  here  replace  thee ! ' 

Scarcely  had  they  changed  their  stations, 

When  a  shrieking  ball  of  iron 

Tore  the  battlement  beneath  him, 

And  laid  low  the  luckless  hostler. 

Blazing  in  its  wake  a  firebrand 

Struck  the  high-perched  wooden  birdhouse; 

Through  its  roof  the  flames  burst  fiercely, 

And  a  dense,  black  smoke  curled  upward. 

Loud  without  the  foe  exulted. 

Volrat  hushed  their  shouts  and  bellowed  : 


The  Wild  Huntsman         205 

"Yield  ye  now,  Hans  Hackelberend  !  " 

"Never!  "  roared  the  warrior  Abbot. 

Wenzel  clambered  to  the  falcons, 

To  release  them  from  their  jesses, 

And  aloft  they  soared  to  freedom. 

Now  the  moat  was  bridged  and  traversed, 

And  the  ram's  dull  blows  fell  heavy 

On  the  groaning,  trembling  tower-gate. 

Axes  rang,  and  sharpened  mattocks 

Shivered,  split  and  tore  the  wood-work; 

Oaken  planks  were  rent  asunder, 

Beams  gave  way,  and  wrecked  and  shattered, 

Half  the  ponderous  gate  sank  crashing 

Down  into  the  tower's  archway. 

Bent  on  spoils,  the  crowding  Leaguers, 
Sweeping  o'er  the  timbered  wreckage, 
Pressed  into  the  court  triumphant, 
Where  their  valorous  opponents, 
Death-defying  and  determined, 
Every  foot  of  ground  contested. 
Clash  of  weapons  still  resounded 
In  a  hopeless,  vain  resistance, 
Till,  by  greater  strength  o'erpowered, 
The  defenders  of  the  castle, 
Scarce  a  man  unscathed  of  body, 
Yielded  up  the  ancient  stronghold. 
In  stern  check  the  bloody  collier 
Held  his  men  from  further  slaughter. 


206         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Albrecht  proudly  scorned  surrender, 

When  the  peasants  fell  upon  him, 

And  he  fought  on  sorely  wounded. 

All  alone  the  knightly  Abbot 

Wielded  his  sharp  sword  defiant, 

Like  the  wild  boar  on  his  scutcheon. 

None  was  able  to  subdue  him. 

Then  it  was  that  collier  Volrat 

Saw  the  Count's  steel-gleaming  armor. 

"Hackelberend,  I  have  found  thee!  ' 

With  a  bound  he  roared  infuriate. 

Desperate  blows  in  deafening  clangor 

Rained  from  flashing  sword  and  halberd, 

Till  the  Abbot's  arm  dropped  shattered. 

With  one  mighty  thrust  the  collier, 

Breaking  through  the  unguarded  corselet, 

Pierced  his  foe,  who  sank  resistless, 

From  his  head  the  helmet  rolling. 

Back  the  peasant  fell  astounded, 

And  anew  his  fury  kindled. 

"Where  is  Hackelberend?"  cried  he, 

Bending  o'er  the  bleeding  body. 

' '  Damned  in  Hell,  where  thou  shalt  find  him 

Breathed  the  dying  Knight  and  Abbot. 

Noisily  the  scuffling  victors 
Pillaged  castle  halls  and  chambers, 
Seizing  garments,  armor,  weapons, 
Followed  still  by  fire  and  ravage. 


I"1  .  ..      v 

7 


• 


The  Wild  Huntsman         209 

Others  sought  the  burning  stables, 
Where  the  plunging  horses  whinnied, 
Maddened  by  the  fiery  turmoil. 
Suddenly  a  cry  of  terror 
Rose  above  the  smoke  and  uproar. 
Wunsch,  from  every  hand  escaping, 
Sprang  unbridled  through  the  doorway. 
Forward  Volrat  leaped  to  seize  him  ; 
But  the  stallion  reared  and,  towering 
Like  some  black,  avenging  demon, 
With  his  iron-shod  hoofs  descended, 
Smiting  low  the  hapless  collier. 
Silently  the  strong  man  perished, 
And  the  charger,  bounding  o'er  him, 
Scattered  wide  the  plundering  peasants, 
And  escaped  from  mortal  bondage. 

In  the  court's  remotest  corner, 
Where  an  aspen's  shadows  quivered, 
On  the  turf  lay  Albrecht  dying; 
Low  beside  him  knelt  Wulfhilde 
All  her  grief  and  love  outpouring. 
Round  them  stood,  a  mourning  circle, 
Gerhard,  Bruno,  and  Agnete; 
While,  her  lover's  arms  about  her, 
Waldtraut  watched  afar,  lamenting. 
"Death  absolves  me  of  my  silence" — 
Wulfhild'  sobbed,  her  pale  lips  trembling, — 
"  Albrecht,  I  have  loved  thee  ever  ; 


210         The  Wild  Huntsman 

O,  so  deep  as  not  another 
In  the  world  could  e'er  have  loved  thee! 
Take  my  heart  to  Heaven  with  thee, 
For  no  earthly  love  shall  claim  it. 
Fare  thee  well,  O  my  beloved ! ' 
As  on  brow  and  lip  she  kissed  him, 
From  his  eyes  the  life-light  faded, 
But  his  fingers'  feeble  pressure 
Made  response  to  her  avowal. 
Round  his  mouth  a  smile  still  hovered, 
And,  like  gentle  Spring's  suspiring, 
His  last  whispering  sigh  was  mingled 
With  the  grieving  breath  of  Autumn. 
Wulfhild'  cast  herself  upon  him, 
And  lay  weeping  on  his  body, 
Till  the  falconer,  bending  o'er  her, 
Spoke  with  patient,  gentle  urgence: 
"Come,  my  lady'     Come,  I  pray  you! 
Nobly  did  he  yield  his  spirit ; 
Nobly  let  him  rest  and  knightly ! 
Now  to  Bruno's  care  consign  him; 
Here  your  life  is  still  in  peril. 
We,  my  dame  and  I,  will  guide  you 
Safe  to  Quedlinburg's  fair  chapter, 
Where  with  mothering  arms  the  Abbess, 
Countess  Stolberg,  will  receive  you." 
Wulfhild'  slowly  rose,  heart-stricken, 
And  with  tear-drowned  eyes  and  accents 
Took  a  brief  farewell  of  Waldtraut, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         211 

And,  supported  by  the  falconer, 
Passed  forever  from  the  castle. 

Wending  to  the  mountain  summit 

On  the  dear  remembered  pathway, 

Wulfhild'  turned,  and,  looking  backward, 

Gazed  once  more,  through  dimming  tear-mists, 

On  loved  wood  and  stream  and  meadow. 

Safely  had  her  home  ancestral 

Lain,  a  jewel,  mountain-guarded  ; 

But  now  lurid  flames  shot  upward 

From  its  casements,  and  she  listened 

To  the  distant  savage  shouting 

And  triumphal  song  of  peasants. 

Passing  on — descending  slowly — 

Swarded  plains  lay  green  before  them, — 

Quedlinburg  with  silent  steeples 

Beckoning  in  the  purpled  distance. 

While  again  she  rested,  wearied, 

Suddenly,  with  wings  a-whirring, 

O'er  her  head  her  falcon  circled, 

Settling  softly  on  her  shoulder. 

"Ah!     Thou  loyal  friend  and  comrade! 

Hast  thou  come  to  bring  me  solace? " 

Wulfhild'  sighed  with  fond  caresses; 

"Faithful  shalt  thou  find  thy  welcome. 

Bide  thou  with  me  now  and  ever, 

Floating  o'er  me,  like  the  memories 

Of  the  days  for  aye  departed !  " 


XIV 


The  Wild  Chase 


NIGHT  sinks  upon  the  Bode  valley; 
The  autumn  air  is  dank  and  chill; 
The  timid  stars  seek  hasty  cover, 

And  murky  clouds  the  heavens  fill. 
And  lone  it  is ;  no  stately  castle 

Now  beckons  from  the  distant  height ; 
No  gleaming  casement  yonder  watches 

From  tower  or  hall  with  cheering  light; 
And  through  the  silence  of  the  forest 

Is  heard  no  peaceful  strain  of  horn, 
That  in  the  past  with  lulling  cadence 

Each  even  down  the  vale  was  borne. 
Where  long  a  noble  race  had  flourished 

Within  their  rock-built  citadel, 
Who  loved  to  roam  with  dog  and  falcon, 

And  in  the  chase  dull  care  dispel; — 
Now  empty  walls  stare,  bleak  and  blackened, 

With  gables  desolate  and  drear — 
Memorial  sad  of  knights  and  ladies, 


212 


The  Wild  Huntsman         21 


j 


Who  lived  and  loved  and  feasted  here. 
Fair  Treseburg,  demolished,  ruined, 

Looms  up  a  picture  of  decay, 
A  granite  skeleton  disjointed, 

Gnawed  bare  by  prowling  beasts  of  prey. 
The  fire,  by  riot's  torch  enkindled, 

Has  riven  massive  walls  of  stone; 
Devoured  are  oaken  roof  and  rafters; 

The  crumbling  tower  stands  alone. 
The  wind  awakes  and  fans  the  embers, 

Anew  the  vaulting  flames  blaze  bright, 
And  through  the  lurid  fiery  billows 

The  glowing  Bergfried  cleaves  the  night. 
Now  smoke  enwraps  the  smoldering  ruins; 

Its  velvet  cloak  the  havoc  shrouds, 
Till  like  a  sable  plume  it  rises, 

And  floating,  curling,  meets  the  clouds. 
Faint  glimmering  through  the  ebon  vapors 

There  peeps  the  sickle  of  the  moon  ; 
But  its  pale  light  soft  wanes  in  hiding, 

And  eerie  darkness  settles  down. 
Whist  figures  fill  the  glooming  shadows, — 

Air-dwellers,  bodiless  and  shy  ; 
Now  here,  now  there,  they  flit  and  beckon ; 

Then  back  into  the  darkness  hie. 
The  rising  storm-wind  blows  and  blusters 

Above  each  height  and  craggy  wall ; 
Swift  sailing  from  across  the  mountains 

The  clouds  spread  out  a  raven  pall. 


214         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  wood  from  revery  awakening 

No  longer  croons  a  slumber-song; 
Its  swaying  boughs  it  sets  aquiver, 

And  rustles  its  dark  aisles  along. 
The  storm  drives  on  in  boisterous  anger, 

The  branches  wildly  toss  and  sway, 
And  yielding  in  a  swirling  tumult, 

The  darkling  waves  of  leaves  give  way. 
O  Woden  Wish-Wind,  whose  low  whispers 

In  magic  ope  the  flowers  of  spring, 
Dost  thou,  returning  in  the  autumn, 

The  fiercer  tempests  also  bring? 
The  gale  pursues  its  endless  journey; 

It  hums  and  shrills  as  on  it  flies, 
As  if  upon  the  earth  came  sweeping 

Gigantic  wings  adown  the  skies. 
Then,  fearful  in  its  pent-up  fury, 

Bursts  forth  the  storm's  exhaustless  wrath; 
A  noise  the  sleeping  dead  to  waken 

Fills  all  the  valley  in  its  path. 
The  air  is  trembling,  whirling,  whizzing, 

A  levelling  fiend  it  rushes  by, 
And  evermore  the  roar  increases, 

The  tempest  howls  and  witches  cry. 
And  through  it  all  rise  human  voices, 

But  wild  and  weird  above  the  wind, 
As  if  in  demolition's  madness 

All  terrors  dire  had  been  combined, 
And  hurtled  forth  this  night  of  frenzy 


The  Wild  Huntsman         215 

From  some  mysterious  hostile  realm, 
Against  the  earth  and  its  existence, 

E'en  life  itself  to  overwhelm. 
There  's  shouting,  as  of  vaunted  triumph, — 

Shrill  through  the  storm  is  heard  the  yell, — 
Then  follow  groans  of  pain  and  anguish, 

As  if  from  tortured  souls  in  Hell: 
Distracting  shrieks  and  husky  croaking, 

Ear-splitting,  harsh,  discordant  song, 
Moans,  curses  vile,  and  lamentations, 

Derisive  jeers — hoarse,  loud  and  long; 
Then  finally  the  cries  of  hunting : 

The  bay  of  dogs,  the  horses'  neigh, 
While  bugles  out  of  tune  add  clamor 

To  fill  a  mortal  with  dismay. 

High  from  the  beetling  Raven  Ledges 

The  storm  blasts  down  the  valley  rave ; 
They  sweep  along  the  crags  of  granite, 

And  whirl  around  a  lonely  grave. 
Assembled  are  the  tempest  rulers, 

Enshrouded  in  a  misty  veil, — 
A  multitude  of  surging  figures, 

That  swarm  throughout  the  wood  and  dale ; 
Night  hunters  they,  who,  skulking,  loiter 

In  restless  prowling  o'er  the  spot, 
As  if  impatiently  they  waited 

To  carry  out  some  ghoulish  plot. 
They  bend  down  o'er  the  mound  and  listen, 


216         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Yet  dare  not  touch  it  with  their  feet, 
But  dreadful  are  the  words  they  utter, 

As  if  but  curses  here  were  meet. 
The  oak  strikes  out  its  lusty  branches 

And  lays  about  as  with  a  sword, 
To  banish  from  the  place  of  burial 

The  hideous,  sacrilegious  horde. 
But  after  every  stroke  the  phantoms 

Return  defiant  as  before, 
While  from  the  oak  resounds  a  clangor 

Like  brazen  bells  amidst  the  roar: 

Disturb  not  the  buried  ! 
For  troubled  and  worried 
TJirougJi  life  are  poor  mortals 

Till  Death  interferes  ; 
Hold  sacred  its  portals 

Till  the  trumpet  he  hears. 
The  doer  of  evil 
On  day  of  upheaval, 
For  sin  and  wrong  dealing 

Will  judgment  receive, 
In  vain  then  appealing 

His  doom  to  retrieve. 
In  peace  let  him  lie  ! 
His  guardian  am  I ! 

The  spirits  listen,  nod  and  whisper, 
While  lightly  flitting  to  and  fro, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         217 

Like  falling  leaves  in  autumn  breezes 
That  ever  down  and  upward  blow. 

They  form  around  the  grave  a  circle, 
In  weird  confusion  dance  and  swing, 

And,  to  their  frantic  manner  suited, 

Loud  screech  and  howl  the  words  they  sing : 


Hu-i-ho  !     He  is  ours  ! 

We  '11  not  let  him  go  ! 
He 's  offended  the  powers 

Who  visit  with  woe. 
His  grave  we  discovered 

Here  under  the  oak  ; 
Our  homage  we  offered 

Midst  fire  and  smoke. 
We  '11  make  him  our  master 

To  lead  in  the  chase. 
And  gallop  the  faster 

Through  limitless  space. 
To  us  he  is  bound, 
Who've  been  under  ground; 
Let  him  be  the  first 
Of  all  who  are  cursed, 
To  mount  his  wild  horse 
For  ne 'er-ending  course  ! 
Hu-i-hu-i !     Awake! 
Hu-i-hu-i  !    A  wake  ! 
Hu-i-ho!    Hu-i!    Ifu-i-o! 


218         The  Wild  Huntsman 

The  tempest  swells  with  demon  fury ; 

The  world  is  shaken  by  the  storm ; 
The  oak  is  felled ;  the  mountain  trembles — 

And,  lo!     Again  the  Mighty  Form! 
Once  more  the  ravens  flutter  round  him ; 

The  wolves  trot  nigh  with  reeking  breath — 
A  spear  is  thrust  into  the  hillside — 

Then  falls  the  solemn  hush  of  death. 
The  mound  above  the  grave  has  vanished, 

And  slowly  in  the  moon's  pale  shine 
A  knightly  figure  rises  from  it, 

Whose  head  dry  leaves  of  oak  entwine. 
Devoid  of  life,  tomb-blanched  and  shrunken, 

Ascends  the  ghostly  Huntsman  grim, 
As,  quickened  by  Hell's  conjuration, 

The  shadowy  pit  disgorges  him. 
Firm  striding  to  his  night-black  stallion, 

He  grasps  the  reins  and  vaults  astride; 
His  hand  drops  quickly  to  the  bugle  — 

His  lifeless  eyes  he  opens  wide — 
An  icy  smile  plays  o'er  his  features — 

Upon  his  brow  dwell  gloom  and  scorn. 

At  touch  of  his  spur  the  black  courser  fleets 

swiftly, 

A  single  shrill  larum  resounds  from  his  horn; 

On,  onward  he  dashes,  and  after  him,  snorting, 

Comes  storming  and  ravening  from  glen  and 

from  glade, 


The  Wild  Huntsman         219 

From  out  the  dense  thicket,   from  rocks  and 
deep  caverns, 
From  clouds  that   float  by,  a  most  dismal 
parade 
Of  spectres  on  horseback,  of  graveyard  com- 
panions, 
Of  outcasts  and  perjured,  in  villainy  dyed; 
With  knives  and  with  cudgels,  with  cross-bows 
and  lances, 
In  armor  and  jerkin,  and  bear's  shaggy  hide; 
The   tortured,    beheaded,    racked,    flayed    and 
dismembered, 
With  limbs    out   of  joint,  with  their  necks 
wrenched  askew, 
With  skulls  that  are  grinning,  and  slashes  wide 
gaping, 
Malefactors  and  felons,  a  horrible  crew. 
The  nags  that  they  ride  are  rough-coated  and 
frothing, 
And  drivelling  curs  at  their   heels  fiercely 
tear ; 
They  sling   and    hurl   stones   and    they   shoot 
with  their  cross-bows, 
But  missiles  and  arrows  fall  short  in  the  air. 
They  scamper  and  gallop,   race,  struggle  and 
jostle, 
As  if  by  avengers  relentlessly  chased — 
Fast    whirling    and    reeling   and    rushing   and 
crowding — 


220         The  Wild  Huntsman 

A  villainous  rabble  in  maddening  haste. 
They  turn  now,   and  twist  like  a  scaly,  huge 
dragon, 
That  wriggles  and  stretches  an  endless  long 
tail, 
And  belches  forth  flames  and  hot  sulphurous 
vapors, 
With  screaming  and  brawling,  great  clamor 
and  wail. 
As  if  the  strong  portals  of  Hell  had  been  broken 
By  legions  of  demons,  their  freedom  to  gain, 
Or  like  a  wild  avalanche,  cleft  from  a  glacier, 
That  crushing,  resistless,  bounds  on  to  the 
plain  — 
At    gallop    now    charges,     with     flourish     of 
trumpets, 
The  Huntsman  recalled  from  the  chamber  of 
death, 
Still  guiding  the  cohorts  that  follow  behind  him, 
With    game   madly   flying  and   panting  for 
breath. 
He  towers  o'er  them  all  with  the  brow  of  a 
monarch, 
The  chief  of  the  mountain,  the  ruler  of  night, 
Who  feared  neither  angels,  nor  man,  nor  the 
devil, 
And  rides,  as  when  living,  in  reckless  despite. 
Ho!      Hunting    forever!      He   stands   in    the 
stirrups, 


^ 


-  X 


• .  wy 


The  Wild  Huntsman         223 

Blows  into  his  bugle   and  swings  his  long 
spear; 
With  reins  hanging  loosely  he  dashes  off  wildly, 
And  leads  his  rough  hordes  in  their  grew- 
some  career. 
Aloft  in  the  track  of  the  eagle  they  follow, 
Veer  round  to  the  castle  in  mad,  plunging 
flight, 
Encircle  the  hill  and  the  smoldering  ruins, 
And  pitch  in  the  gulf  of  the  dismal,  dark 
night. 
Then  fades  out  of  sight  the  ineffable  terror, 

Its  echoes  still  lingering,  as  onward  it  flies; 
Now   louder,    now    lower,    now    turning,    now 
winding, 
Until  in  the  distance  it  finally  dies. 
Peace  settles  again,  and  the  soft-sighing  breezes 

In  cadences  soothing  the  tumult  bemoan ; 
They  sing  of  the  harvest,  of  acorns  and  ber- 
ries, 
Of  birds  and   the  flowers,   all  withered    or 
flown. 
But  listen !      The  turmoil  and  din  is  returning, 

And  fast  reapproaches  the  chaos  and  roar ; 
In  unlessened  horror  the  hillside  ascending, 
The  menacing  night-horde  comes   storming 
once  more. 
Midst  luminous  showers  of  sparkles  and  flashes, 
It  sweeps  around  tower  and  tottering  wall, 


224         The  Wild  Huntsman 

Then  vanishes,  wailing,  in  darkness  and  shadow, 
The  furious  chase,  with  its  leader  and  all. 

The  clouds  in  banks  of  tranquil  splendor 

Float  calmly  like  a  broadening  stream, 
And  golden  on  the  deep  blue  heaven 

The  stars  with  burnished  lustre  gleam. 
The  wood  in  nodding  boughs  still  whispers 

Of  Wode  and  his  conquering  might, 
And  gently  lulled  to  dreamy  silence 

It  sleeps  upon  the  breast  of  night. 


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